


Third Time's The Charm

by lcbeauchampoftarth



Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Fluff and Smut, F/M, Missing Moments, Reunited and It Feels So Good
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2020-02-29 23:49:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 37,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18788767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lcbeauchampoftarth/pseuds/lcbeauchampoftarth
Summary: Jamie and Claire Fraser are reunited in 1764. After they settle down in Edinburgh and start anew after eighteen years apart, life gives them another chance at a dream long denied to them.Brianna Randall Fraser is beginning university in 1966, and is learning how to reconcile her normal daily life with the extraordinary family history that remains a secret to everyone but a few.As she begins to trace the history of her parents’ lives, she discovers a new part of herself that will bring the Fraser family together.





	1. Prologue (June 1766/January 1764)

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever fic for the Outlander community (and in general), and I thank you all so much for taking the time to read this story that is so precious to me. If you like Tumblr, you can find me at @lcbeauchampoftarth, where I'll be posting as well. 
> 
> Because this is canon-divergent, there are a quite a few canon changes from Diana Gabaldon's "Voyager", and some will be more obvious than others. A few of these changes include: Jamie never went to Helwater, Jamie and Claire have been separated for 18 years, and Laoghaire (who we will not physically see in this story, but is mentioned) did everything to Claire that was done in the show, but Jamie knows nothing about anything surrounding the witch trial (so, a mix of show and book).
> 
> This story gives them the time and space to heal, settle, and live a life of normalcy (that is, until an unexpected blessing lands in Jamie and Claire's lives). Thank you again for giving this story a chance. <3

 

_**June 1766** _

My body felt every bit of my 45 years of age as I gracelessly chased the squealing toddler around my shop. Ever since she had learned to walk a few months ago, her tiny yet chubby legs propelled her everywhere she desired to go. My clothes were covered in soot after a long day of printing, but that didn’t stop me from trying to make her laugh as loudly as possible, even though I knew her mother would have  _words_  for me for getting the tiny mischief-maker’s dress dirty.

“ _Mo chuisle_ ,  _a leannan_ , I’m coming for ye!”

She shrieked in delight at my teasing and her running proved futile as I scooped her up in my arms. I kissed her relentlessly on her cheeks, momentarily thinking that although her dark curly hair would likely hide any trace of my failure to clean up before taking her into my arms, her dirt-covered face would give me away.

I heard a sudden gasp from above, and my eyes immediately locked with those of a young woman standing on the balcony overlooking my printing press. Her fiery red hair, blue eyes, and emotive face conveyed a haunting sense of familiarity that I struggled to rationalize.

Realizing it was no longer just me and the wee bairn, I cleared my throat and adopted my somewhat professional demeanor. “Good evenin’, can I help ye, mistress?” I adjusted the positioning of my mini stage-three clinger, who currently had her arms wrapped tightly around my neck as if holding on for dear life, and propped her on my hip. As I walked up the stairs towards the visitor, my mind continued to fight against the frighteningly supernatural sense that overwhelmed my thought process:  _you know this lass_.

“I—” she started, seemingly unable to decide how she wanted continue her sentence. “I....it’s you two that I’m looking for.”

Confused, I briefly glanced down at the whisky eyes innocently staring back at me before focusing back on the woman.

“I’m sorry, mistress, I’m no’ sure what ye mean.”

She took a step back, eyes glued to the floor. Her clearly evident nerves began to take a toll on my own heart rate, but I didn’t want to further scare the poor girl. She looks so much like my mother, I fleetingly thought, hoping that the eerily similar physical comparison adequately explained why goosebumps had slowly traveled down my arms from the moment I saw her.

“Have ye a message for me, lass?”

* * *

**_January 1764, two and a half years earlier_ **

“Pardon?” I nervously blurted out, reaching my hand to gently touch the shoulder of the delivery boy that looked as if he might know about Jamie’s whereabouts. “I’m looking for a printer. Mr. Malcolm. Alexander Malcolm?”

“Aye!” he answered, his eyes reflecting his immediate shift from confusion to recognition. “He’s located at the end of Carfax Close, which’ll be the first on yer left.”

With that quick confirmation, my heart froze. I realized that I had long been preparing myself for the likelihood that I’d reach a dead end in my quest to find Jamie — that my hope of finding him would never truly materialize, but would instead remain within the four corners of the copy of the printed poem firmly grasped in my hands.

After thanking the boy and watching him walk away, I took a deep breath to steady myself. It seemed almost pointless to do so at this juncture, as my racing heartbeat and shaking hands indicated that I wouldn’t be leaving this stage of adrenaline anytime soon. I grabbed my glasses from my coat pocket and placed them on the tip of my nose, fondly remembering that Brianna had been the one to pick these out for me and my tiring eyes a few years ago.

* * *

Frank had died in a car accident ten years after Jamie sent me back through the stones. Ironically, I was on the clock at the local hospital on the same night he was brought into our emergency room. As I left a final check-in with a patient whose surgery had thankfully produced no complications, I heard a soft “ _Claire_ ” come from Joe, my dear friend and colleague. The fact that he called me by my Christian name and not the playful  _Lady Jane_  nickname that he had based solely on my apparently posh accent was the first warning sign. The second stemmed from the tone in which he said my name — the same tone that we, as young doctors, learned to adopt when communicating tragic news to worried loved ones.

“It’s Frank,” Joe continued. “He was brought here after paramedics discovered him at the scene. It was a car accident. He— he was dead on arrival. I’m so, so sorry, Claire.”

I still remember nothing between the moment after Joe broke the news to me and the realization of finding myself sitting in a cold, narrow, echo-filled room with white-tiled walls and a standard linoleum-patterned floor. Sitting next to a body, laid out on a metal stretcher, that once held my first husband’s charm, intelligence, disdain, fatherly instincts, resentment, and grief-filled and eventually unrequited love for me.

As I carefully studied Frank’s face for what I knew would be the last time, I grew paralyzed by a wave of conflicting emotions. A sense of love for him that had undeniably evolved over the past thirteen years, beginning the moment I first traveled through the stones during our second honeymoon in Scotland. It was a love that was no longer romantic, but instead nostalgic and supported by a foundation of likely undeserved gratitude towards him. A deeply-rooted pang of guilt for never completely re-immersing myself in the reality of  _Claire & Frank_  — a guilt that stemmed from the belief that, in my inability to irreversibly shut the door on the most powerful thing I had ever experienced, I let both Jamie and Frank down. A heart-shattering realization that Brianna’s tenth birthday would be her last with the man she lovingly knew as her father.

However, the feeling that came the most naturally at that moment was the one I would deny the quickest. A feeling that would stay buried, never to be recognized again.  _Relief_. Frank’s passing released the verbal muzzle he had placed on me when we started our new life together. I had lived a decade without uttering a single word or phrase that could reasonably be traced back to Jamie Fraser. I had tried to apply the same rigor of mental training I developed in medical school to the inevitably futile task of wiping my memory clean of any treasured memories of my life with Jamie. I had remained complicit in the heartbreaking lie regarding Brianna’s parentage. I had fulfilled every requirement of Frank’s cruel conditions, and now I was free.

* * *

Seven years after Frank’s passing, I was back in 1764, glancing down at the paper in my hands and skimming the already-memorized words printed by one  _Alexander Malcolm_. A. Malcolm, Jamie’s pseudonym in Edinburgh — a discovery made by Roger Wakefield, a young historian that Brianna and I met during a week in Scotland that changed both of our lives. Shortly after her fifteenth birthday, I took Brianna to Inverness and told her everything about her father. Jamie Fraser. The man who destroyed his own heart for our protection. The proud Highlander who, until a month ago, I believed had died on the battlefields in Culloden.

Brianna and I had carefully rebuilt our collective history over the two years following that fateful trip, a process filled with questions she asked that I never hesitated to answer. We slowly accepted Jamie’s fate as part of our own familial narrative, but the curious Mr. Wakefield never did. He kept researching, kept venturing down promising paths — which is how I found myself, on Christmas Eve in 1965, with unimpeachable proof that Jamie was still alive. He had beaten death in battle and in prison. He was a free man, working as a printer for the main newspaper in town,  _The Edinburgh Advertiser_.

This earth-shattering discovery resulted in a month-long campaign of constant encouragement from Brianna for me to go back and find Jamie. The thought had undeniably crossed my mind the second it registered that Jamie was alive in his own time, but I never seriously considered the possibility of returning to him until my daughter —  _our_  daughter — began making the ultimate push. Joe and Gail unconditionally vowed to take care of Brianna, both of them having been let in on the secret of my strange journey back in time (which included a blunt observation from Joe himself: _I always knew Brianna had so much of you and so little of Frank_ ).

Brianna never failed to remind me that she would miss me and would carry a hint of sadness through everything that we wouldn’t get to experience together. That bittersweet tinge was constantly present in her voice, even when she would quip about how she was “all grown up” — how she wanted me around, but didn’t  _need_  me like she did when she was little. But she always ended each remark with the same conclusion:  _Jamie gave you to me, now I’m giving you back to him. And you get to tell him everything about me._ At the end of January 1966, I made the journey 202 years back in time, carrying nothing but a small and hidden arsenal of modern-day treasures and necessities that I could never leave behind.

She weighed heavily on my mind as I turned onto Carfax Close. Our beautiful daughter, the perfect creation of my and Jamie’s lives. Brianna was the one reassurance that my years with Jamie were real, true, and undoubtedly mine. I brought pictures of her with me, tucked safely in one of my many pockets, and I prayed that Jamie would want to see them. I had no idea what Jamie’s life looked like now, but I hoped that I was still enough for him.

At the heart of Carfax Close, I spotted a wrought iron sign dangling in front of a tall wooden staircase that led to the shop’s entrance. A. Malcolm, Printer, Edinburgh Advertiser. My heartbeat quickly traveled up into my eardrums as I stretched out my hand and gently touched the black letters of the name. Jamie’s name. A. Malcolm. Alexander Malcolm. Removing my hand, I forced myself up the stairwell before the frayed thread of courage keeping my will together had the chance to snap. Once I found myself at the shop entrance, I removed my glasses and nervously patted down my wild curls one more time before shoving open the heavy oak door. 

* * *

“ _Christ_!” I yelled in frustration as I fought with my incredibly stubborn printing press. I had arrived before dawn to begin my daily routine of printing several hundred copies of advertisements and essays for  _The Edinburgh Advertiser_. However, the lever to my main press had decided to jam; so I sent Geordie, my assistant, off to find some tools. He had been gone for more than an hour when I finally heard the entrance doorbells chime, and I sighed in much-welcomed relief.

“Is that you, Geordie? Took ye long enough, now get down here if ye would and help me.”

When I heard neither a verbal confirmation nor his usual speedy footsteps approaching, I took a moment to stretch out the temporary hunchback I had developed in my battle with the lever jam. Satisfied with the melody of  _cracks_  that traveled down my aching back, I began to kneel down when I heard the words that would irrevocably change my life once again.

“It isn’t Geordie.”

 _No_ , I thought.  _That can’t be her_.  _I’m imaginin’ her voice_.  _I’m goin’ mad_.

“It’s me.” A pause. “Claire.”

 _Oh, Christ_.

With my back turned away from the mysterious visitor, I shut my eyes tightly and took a few calming breaths.  _Keep it together_.  _This is just another one of yer dreams_.  _Ye’ll make it through_.  _Just turn around_.  _Nobody will be there, and ye can get back to reality_.

“.....Jamie?”

Real or not, that pleading voice was forever a siren call to me, and I mentally prepared myself for heartbreak as I turned around. What I saw rendered me speechless.

 _A Dhia, she was so beautiful_. Her dark brown curls framed the same delicate glass face that I had fallen in love with almost twenty years ago. The golden eyes that I knew all too well contained the same combination of nervousness and hope that was reflected in her half-smile. We were both frozen at the root, neither of us wanting to budge out of fear that our eyes were truly deceiving us.

Never breaking eye contact with me, Claire — or, at this point, a dangerously real vision of her — slowly descended the stairs and approached me. As she drew closer, I saw the faint lines framing her eyes and mouth, reflecting a life undoubtedly hard-fought. She stopped about five feet away from me, having reached a self-imposed physical barrier, and I quickly realized that I hadn’t said a single word since setting my eyes on her.

Swallowing one more time, as if to physically remove the ball of nerves constricting my voice, the corners of my mouth lifted slightly.

“Sassenach, is it truly you?”

Seemingly rendered speechless herself, Claire’s smile reached its full wattage as she moved closer and covered my left hand with both of hers. Her hands sought the silver-tinted “ _C_ ” scar she had imprinted on me as a reminder that our life together was  _real_  and  _true_  and  _ours_. Her watery eyes followed the movements of her thumbs, gently tracing the scar, back and forth. Flinching as though an electric spark had passed between us, any notion in my mind that Claire was merely a vision induced by long days with little sleep immediately shattered.

“You’re real,” I whispered. “God in heaven,  _you’re real_.”

“So are you,” Claire softly uttered in response as she met my eyes, tears escaping her own. “I—I thought you were dead.”

I pulled her hard against me as we collapsed onto each other. We were both shaking, and I couldn’t say how long we sat there on the soot-covered floor, tears of longing spilling down both of our faces. Eighteen years apart couldn’t erase the familiarity and rightness of having Claire in my arms. I found myself silently praying Gaelic pleas as I drew her closer to me —   _Lord, thank ye for bringing her back to me_.  _Please dinna let this be for a moment, but instead for forever_.  _I canna live without her_.

“Don’t be afraid,” Claire whispered softly against my chest, likely sensing the irrational fear in my tight grip. Those words harkened me back to our wedding night, the rush of memories culminating in my strange response of a mix between a choke and laugh.

Stroking her cheek, I rested my head on hers, finishing that soothing reassurance I told her all those years ago.

“There’s the two of us now.”


	2. Reconstructing (January 1764)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your incredible support of this little story of mine. A few canon changes are laid out here, but are important to the story moving forward. Y'all's words of encouragement mean the absolute WORLD to me. You can find me on Tumblr at @lcbeauchampoftarth and on Twitter at @lcbeauchampoft1 if y'all ever want to reach out. Thank you again. <3

The first observation my exhausted brain registered upon jolting awake was the pitch black nature of my environment. The second, and more immediately devastating discovery, occurred as I reached my hand across the bed and encountered cold bed sheets.

Panicked, I fought the urge to crumble into tears. My head remained glued to my pillow and my arm extended, selfishly too afraid to make any move that would either confirm or deny what I believed I had experienced over the past twelve hours. It all felt so _real_ — collapsing into Jamie’s arms; revealing to him that _Brian_ was actually a _Brianna_ who knew Jamie as her father; sharing photos of Brianna with Jamie, his face adding another crinkle and his eyes tearing up with each new photo; the shocking-turned-somewhat-humorous discovery that my still-charmingly naive and gentlemanly husband was a current occupant (but _not_ a customer, he emphasized repeatedly) of the room on the top floor of the highly-visited brothel in Edinburgh, _House of Joy_ ; the dinner we enjoyed _together_ , sharing stories from our time apart that floated on the surface of the deep waters we now found ourselves in; the mutual assurances that, yes, we both still wholeheartedly and deeply desired each other; and the unbelievable rush of sensations as we finally came together for the first time in eighteen years.

I had dreamt of Jamie countless times. The plot vaporized every time before my mind could consciously grasp it, but I’d always remember the places I had subconsciously visited with him. The Laird’s bedroom in Lallybroch, the heathered fields we’d traveled through on our journeys, the quaint cottage we’d stayed in the night before he sent me back to Craigh na Dun. I had even dreamt of him in my time, pacing the hallways of my home, whispering calming Gaelic words to a baby Brianna in his arms. These visions of Jamie were far from rare occurrences.

But it was different this time. My dreams usually didn’t provoke any physical side effects, but I currently felt the delightful aches of intense satisfaction. My eyes were weighed down by the puffiness that normally remained after several hours of crying. The bed sheets felt scratchy and unfamiliar, sending my rational thought process into a deeper tailspin. Finding myself in a chilly and dark room, I began resigning myself to the conclusion that my mind had played its greatest trick on me and I was actually still in Boston, emotionally and physically alone.

Ten or so minutes had passed, the air around me thick and silent. Age had given me the upper hand in controlling my emotions, but I never felt more vulnerable than in those moments of instant aftermath, lying in bed and grieving another vanquished dream. The tears I tried to ward off streamed down my cheeks, proving any type of resistance futile.

Suddenly, the door next to my side of the bed slowly creaked open. The top half of my body sprang up as a tall, red-headed, warrior-built Scot slowly tiptoed into the room, balancing a large plate on his left hand.

 " _Jamie_?” I hesitantly whispered, still fearful that he’d vanish before me upon recognition.

My eyes slowly registered the outline of his body as he hastily jumped at my call, turning to face me.

“Ah! Sassenach, yer awake. ‘Tis my fault. My starvin’ body woke me up, and ye looked too far gone in your dreams for me to feel alright about waking ye, so I grabbed some meats and cheese from the kitchen to tide us over ‘til morning. I also got to chattin’ with the cook for God knows how long.”

A shiver rippled through Jamie’s body. “ _Christ_ , I didna even realize until I was downstairs how cold and dark it is in here, the fire must ha’ petered out while I was gone.”

He placed the treasured snacks on the table by the fireplace, clearly pleased with his findings. I, on the other hand, abandoned all sense of propriety as I flew out of bed ( _naked_ , as a natural result of our previous activities) and enveloped my arms around his neck, once-terrified sobs wracking my body and overflowing onto his white cotton shirt.

“ _Sassenach_ .” Jamie’s voice was laced with concern as he gathered me into his arms, stroking my back as I unburdened myself of the heartache I had harbored over years of experiencing his touch and his voice only in my dreams. “What happened, _mo nighean donn_? Did ye have a nightmare?”

My vocal chords now overwhelmed by the residual hiccups that tended to accompany the start of a good cry, I sharply nodded against his chest, eventually garnering the strength to answer amidst my hyperventilating breaths. “I— I— Jamie, I thought everything that ha—ppened since I found— you was a dream. I—I woke up, alone, and you—you weren’t here—”

“Oh, _a nighean_ , I’m so sorry.”

“So—so many times, you— felt so real to me. And I—I’d wake up and it would be me, all—alone, and all I’d w—want is to go back to sleep to— see you again.”

“ _Claire._ ”

His gentle yet commanding use of my name — a rare occasion he only entertained in the most serious of moments — calmed my erratic heart as I felt his hand cradle my chin and slowly pull up. Looking into his eyes, I encountered a wave of emotions that perfectly complemented my own palette: his reassurance to soothe my fear; his immediate guilt at accidentally causing my temporary sense of despair; his certainty of reality to counter my doubt of the truth of our surroundings.

“I’m so sorry I left ye all by yerself, _mo ghraidh_ , and in such a strange and unfamiliar setting as well.”

I briefly reflected on the fact that this simple and truly earnest apology — one that he, of all people, didn’t owe me — could have applied to the last eighteen years of our lives.

“ _I_ _’m_ the one who should be sorry, Jamie,” I countered, the steady tone returning to my voice. “All you did was leave to bring us food, and you come back and you’re attacked out of nowhere by a hysterical naked woman—”

Jamie cut me off with a soft kiss. Moving his hand from my chin to the back of my head, he kept it there once we pulled apart.  

“I promise ye this, Sassenach. Whatever happens, ye’ll never be alone again.”

Suppressing the rather unattractive sniffles that I was currently battling, I grabbed Jamie’s other hand and kissed each of his roughened knuckles. I couldn’t help but smile at the look of complete adoration on his face — a look that I quickly realized I hadn’t been the recipient of in a long time.

“I’m going to hold you to that, James Fraser.”

Beaming, he met my challenge.

“Ye have my word, Claire Fraser.”

 _Claire Fraser._ No other name — Claire Beauchamp, Claire Randall, Doctor Randall — had ever fit me as perfectly as this one. Grabbing his beautiful face, I leaned in and kissed him deeply. I inhaled every inch of him that my senses could gather as his mouth slowly opened, both of us relishing in the joy of living in a time where I could reach out and kiss him at any moment.

Jamie’s arms traveled down my back before firmly grasping my bare arse, and his accompanying moan resulted in a pool of heat gathering in my belly. I silently thanked the heavens that my husband’s favorite body part of mine still brought him pleasure, and my lips left his as I began a trail of kisses down his neck and onto his collarbone. I gripped the bottom of his shirt, and I felt him lift his arms up as I hastily pulled it off and ran my freezing hands against his _incredibly_ well-defined chest.

“Sassenach,” Jamie sputtered out amidst his melody of sighs and groans, “I need a bit of sustenance before we start round two, otherwise I might faint on ye.”

His plea sparked a humorous vision that had me stifling a laugh as I kissed him on the cheek once more. I plopped onto the olive green couch that occupied the prime space in front of the fireplace. After restarting the fire, Jamie brought the plate of food to the couch before grabbing the fuzzy grey blanket draped over the foot of the bed. He cozied up next to me as he threw the blanket over us both; he promptly picked up a miniature block of cheese and placed it right in front of my mouth.

“Open up, Sassenach, yer gonna need to build yer strength back up as well.”

Smirking, I accepted his enticing offer. The two of us leaned back against the cushions, Jamie’s right arm drawing me into his side. I curled my feet under the blanket as I placed my head and right hand on his chest.

\------------

A companionable silence fell as we devoured the plate of food, both of us hungrier than we had anticipated. Minutes later, a sigh of deep contentment escaped Jamie’s body, and I peeked my head up to find contentment reflected in his eyes as well.

“Tis a wonderful thing,” he explained, “the fact that touchin’ ye still brings me a sense of peace. It doesna matter what else is goin’ on around me, but havin’ ye in my arms always calms my soul.”

Unsure of what to say beyond my simple yet wholehearted response of “ _for me as well_ ”, I kissed him before returning to my place on his chest.

It wasn't a thing I had consciously missed, but Jamie’s observation reminded me of the joy of it; that drowsy intimacy in which a man's body is accessible to you as your own, the strange shapes and textures of it like a sudden extension of your own limbs. Touch had been as crucial to our relationship as the words we communicated to each other, and it would continue to be our safe harbor as we slowly rebuilt our histories that we experienced during our time apart.

Anxious to begin that reconstruction, I laid down the first stone.

“Jamie?”

“Sassenach?”

“What—-” I began, simultaneously figuring out what to say and how to phrase it as I continued my question, “what did life look like for you after Culloden? I know that you survived — well, obviously — and you were at Ardsmuir Prison for a time. And now you’re here.”

I felt Jamie’s body temporarily tense under me. He slowly shifted his body so that he was facing me head-on. I adjusted my own positioning to match his, resting on my left side and looking directly into his eyes. He placed his hand around my waist and pulled me slightly closer, then reached for my right hand. The room still too dark and the fire too dim to see the minute details of my hand, his thumb hovered over my palm until he found it — the silver, slightly-raised “ _J_ ” he had carved into me. Gently rubbing his thumb back and forth over the scar, he began.

\----------

“I told ye about the soldiers taking me back to Lallybroch after Culloden, aye? That Harold Grey had found me and taken me back to Jenny as payment for the debt his brother owed me?”

Nodding, I gave him the signal to continue. Jamie had delicately scratched the surface of the past two decades during our dinner together, giving away vague clues to where he had been and what he had experienced.

 “They brought me back to die, and when word spread that I had lived, that’s when the ransackin’ begin. The Redcoats raided Lallybroch constantly, just like ye warned us, Sassenach. It went on for the seven years I was there. To protect Jenny and Ian and their bairns, I lived in a cave on the Lallybroch property. I’d hunt for food for them, and though I had Fergus to keep me company at times, I was alone for most of my time there.”

 I couldn’t shake the devastation that threatened to consume my body. My Jamie. All alone for seven years, _in a cave_. What shocked me almost as much as the information itself was how he said it so matter-of-factly, as if the years of isolation had merely evolved into a new normal for him.  

 “How—-” I swallowed. “How often did you see Jenny, Ian, and the kids?”

 “Once or twice a month, at best,” he smiled weakly. “I would sometimes spend an hour or two with them after dropping off my latest hunting finds for them, but never longer than that. I couldna bear the thought of puttin’ them in danger.”

I actively sought another question I could ask him, knowing that this mental exercise was my protective shield. If I took any more time to further reflect on what Jamie had revealed to me, I wouldn’t be able to bear it.

“How did you end up at Ardsmuir?”

My husband — _Jamie, my husband, sitting right in front of me_ — and I were complete opposites when it came to our individual ability to mask emotions on our faces. My _glass face_ , as he loved to call it, hid nothing. Jamie, however, could find himself battling an ever-growing pit of rage, yet his face would never show it unless fully provoked.

Nevertheless, my curiosity had slightly cracked his facade, a hint of a frown flickering on his face as he deciphered my question.  

“It was the day that Young Ian was born,” Jamie started. “Jenny— she had gone into labor that mornin’, and Ian was—” he paused suddenly, “ _away_ , so Fergus was sent to find me so I could keep her company. I held her hand as she gave birth to him, and I was one of the first people to hold him.”

The sapphires in Jamie’s eyes glowed as he recalled the memories of Young Ian’s birth. “He was _so tiny_ , Sassenach. And one of the sweetest things I’d ever seen. I ken I’m only to be his uncle, but I felt a bond between the wee bairn and myself. ‘Tis a feelin’ that is hard to describe, ye ken?”

I nodded in complete agreement, feeling a slight pang in my chest at the thought of Brianna. Her birthday was one of the happiest days of my life, yet it also carried a bittersweet weight, as the one person I desperately wanted there with me had been dead for nearly two hundred years.

Jamie took a deep breath as he gathered his thoughts before continuing. “It was only a few hours after wee Ian had been born that the Redcoats stormed Lallybroch. Withou’ even thinkin’, I took the bairn and hid in a closet with him for what felt like hours. Thankfully, the lad didna make a peep, but I knew that I couldna keep placing Jenny and her family in danger. They were all I had at that point.”

Time seemed to stop as Jamie filled in the years I had missed, the fire gradually warming our chilled bodies. After the Redcoats arrested him, providing Jenny with a reward that would take care of her family during his absence, Jamie was charged with treason and served time at Ardsmuir Prison in northern Scotland. During his sentence, he had befriended the warden of the prison — Lord John Grey, the name I immediately recognized as belonging to the young soldier we had met at Prestonpans. I noticed that Jamie skimmed over most of his time at Ardsmuir, but I didn’t push him on it.

He explained that Ardsmuir Prison had closed during the fourth year of his ten-year sentence and while many of the fellow Jacobites he had known ended up being shipped to the colonies, Lord John gifted Jamie his own conditional release. Jamie was allowed to return to Lallybroch, to be with his family, and to slowly immerse himself back into a normal life. However, in exchange for Lord John’s generosity, Jamie couldn’t leave the property during the remaining term of his sentence. Jamie’s freedom was restrained, yet again, for another six years.

“Sassenach, I couldna tell ye how grateful I was to be at home, especially after spending years in the horrid conditions at Ardsmuir. Jenny and Ian had been the ones to see me through while I grieved over the loss of ye and our child. Ye ken that those two truly care for me, and they were the ones who kept me going. But—”

Jamie paused. In the midst of the comfortable silence between us, I realized — with a faint sense of guilt — that he hadn’t stopped since I asked him that first probing question. He was pouring out years of lived experiences to me, and I knew he must be exhausted. The well of tears forming in his eyes nearly shattered my heart.

“I shoulda been happy at Lallybroch.” His voice wavered, capturing the aftereffects of the emotional rollercoaster he and I had been riding from the moment I walked into the print shop the previous afternoon. “I was surrounded by family who loved me. Young Jamie was 16, Maggie was 14, and I got to see both of them married off. Young Jamie had his second child just last year. Kitty grew from a wee and feisty girl to a brilliant young woman. Michael, Janet, and wee Ian were also still at home by the time I left, and I watched all of them grow up before my eyes.”  

“I was happy in a way, but _Christ,_ I missed ye even more than I possibly thought I could during those years.”

He hadn’t said it out loud, but I knew what his heart ached for. I knew, because I had experienced a rising tide of jealousy on behalf of Jamie and me as he told me of the life Ian and Jenny had created for themselves. It was foolish and shortsighted to feel that way, as those two had experienced no shortage of troubles — but they had faced them, for the most part, _together._ They had six children, exactly half of the number Jamie had desired as part of our legacy. They had built a family, and fate had snatched that dream from us.

“I missed you too, Jamie,” I responded, those seemingly hollow words failing to communicate the bone-deep ache I carried from the moment I said goodbye to him. “So much.”

“I was so selfish at times, Sassenach,” he confessed. “I’d see Ian and Jenny fawn over their bairns, play games with them, fight with them to get them to eat their vegetables, sing them to sleep if they woke up from a bad dream. And sometimes, I’d think - _why them, and not us as well_? What had you and I done for life to rip us apart?”

“Nothing, Jamie.” I urged him on, resisting my own impulse to crumble into tears alongside him. “We were on a path we had no control over. We did the best we could.”

“I woulda given anythin’ to spend just a day rocking a fussy Brianna back to sleep or to stare at her for hours with you. There were some days where the loneliness was all-consuming, where I almost woulda preferred prison.”

I placed a mental pin on this point in his timeline, knowing that I wanted to know more about this struggle he experienced back at Lallybroch. I asked another question in hopes of helping us both jump over this emotional hurdle.

“What made you decide to move to Edinburgh?”

Jamie wavered again, and I mentally kicked myself for thinking that this inquiry would have lifted his mood. I could see him battling what to say next — though his face continued to show nothing, he had other tells that I had picked up as the person who physically, emotionally, and mentally knew him better than anyone else. His fingers tapping, the corners of his eyes twitching, his breathing rapidly departing from the regular pace he set — he had something he needed to tell me, but _really_ didn’t want to say it.

“Hey,” I whispered, pulling Jamie’s hand into my lap. “It’s okay. We’re taking this a step at a time.”

Exhaling quickly, he responded, “I’m sorry, Sassenach. There are pieces I’m no’ yet ready to talk about. Things I’m still processin’.”

Naturally jumping to the worst conclusion possible, I froze.

_Oh God, please don’t tell me you fell in love with somebody else._

Deciding not to push against his hesitancy, I squeezed his hand, encouraging him to continue whenever he was ready.

Jamie proceeded to tell me that he had settled down in Edinburgh about six months ago, quickly befriending a local printer who was responsible for the advertisements and essays that went into each copy of _The Edinburgh Advertiser._ The man had taken Jamie under his wing, and it was not even three months later when he offered Jamie the reins to his shop. Alexander Malcolm had been a pseudonym he’d picked out as an extra safeguard, but most people around town knew him as Jamie Fraser, a freedom he’d long been denied of and now truly enjoyed.

“Considerin’ the _Advertiser_ was the only paper willin’ to print advertisements for _House of Joy_ , we struck a deal with Madame Jeanne and that’s how I got this room. It’s close to the shop, provides me with food and a room and a bed, as well as my own privacy.”

Though I attempted a smile to indicate my attentiveness, I was guilty of merely half-listening to this most recent change in his life, preoccupied with what he had said right before.

_What was he processing? What really brought him here? Was there another reason he needed privacy?_

“Sassenach? Ye’re upset, I see it all over yer face. What’s wrong, _a nighean_?”

Caught. Eighteen years apart, and he could still read any emotion that crossed my face. With anybody else, I would have brushed it aside as an accidental reflection on a surgery that had gone wrong, or on a petty spat with a frustrating co-worker. But from the moment I met Jamie, he unknowingly had broken down the walls I built around my heart, the first bricks laid the day that my parents died. I couldn’t hide this fear from him — he made me more honest. So, I took the plunge, terrified of what awaited me at the bottom.

“I know that you had a life. We both did. Lives that took us away from each other and established new ties. I just— Jamie, it’s alright if you did,” _stuttering, knowing that I couldn’t lie to myself either_ , “but did you ever fall in love with anyone else? Was there anyone else?”

“ _No_.”

He spoke it like a promise. An oath. A commitment.

Jamie’s hands were now framing both sides of my face, his serious eyes piercing my own.

“Sassenach, I willna lie to ye and say that I havena sought comfort in the years ye were gone. Those moments came when I was at my lowest, most brutal version of myself. But, _mo nighean donn_ , I have never loved anyone but you. Only you, now and forever.”

Tears of relief spilling down my cheeks, I poured my gratitude into him as our lips met. One kiss grew into two, three, _five_ — losing count, I pulled myself closer to him. Skin against skin, Jamie’s breeks served as the sole barrier.

“Jamie,” I muttered in between passionate kisses as my hands pulled on the ties to his breeks, “take these off.”

He gently lifted me up as he used his other hand to pull them down, his lips never leaving mine. My legs automatically wrapped around his waist as he stood up, carrying both of our emotionally worn bodies back to bed.

We collapsed onto the mattress, our kisses slowing but never fully stopping. Our physical weariness surrendered to our mutual need to remind one another that I was his, and he was mine.

Jamie turned to me, and I to him, and we made love to each other in a slow, unspeaking, and long-lost tenderness that left us lying still at last. 

Breathless and sweaty, we fell asleep entwined, exhausted by the early stages of unpeeling the layers of masks Jamie and I had donned in our separate lives. The last thing I remembered before falling asleep was Jamie wrapping his arms around my waist and pressing himself against my back, thankful for the guarantee that when I woke up the next morning, he would be by my side. 


	3. Memories (January 1764/January 1966)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your continued encouragement of this story. <3

I awoke the next morning to sunlight flooding our room and Jamie’s deep blue eyes fixated on my sleeping form. Reaching out, I gently pressed my fingertips against his scruff, admiring the reds, browns, and bits of subtle greys that scattered along his beautifully chiseled jaw.

“Good mornin’, my own.”

Oh, the basic yet irresistible pleasure of having a lover in my bed to say “ _good morning_ ” to.

“Good morning, you bloody Scot.”

Jamie chuckled as he pulled me into his lap and kissed me, adjusting my positioning until I was straddling him. Scooting closer, I threw my arms around his neck and plunged my tongue into his mouth as I began slowly rocking my hips against his. I felt the hard length of him nestled against my thigh as he devoured me, his hands gracing the curves of my back. What had started as a tender wake-up call quickly grew heated and I moaned softly, silently pleading for Jamie to shift just _a little_ to the right and create that perfect fit within me.

“God, Jamie,” I breathed out, his kisses rapidly driving me towards oblivion. “You feel so good.”

By the time I could register what was happening, Jamie had flipped me onto my back, his body looming over mine as he wandered down my own. His soft kisses forged a path, seeking to leave no amount of skin untouched.

Jamie paused as he approached my stomach, his fingers lightly tracing the silvered stretch marks I had carried with Brianna. His eyes — nearly black with desire at this point — focused on mine as he placed wet kisses on each mark. Taking my thighs in his hands, he slowly spread them further apart and continued making his way toward my core.

Every nerve ending in my body fired sensations I hadn’t experienced during our time apart. My own self-care during those years (a lifeline I sought in nights of nearly unbearable loneliness) could never replicate the glorious feeling of having _Jamie_ between my legs. Breathing harder, I gripped Jamie’s hair and brought his eyes back up to me.

Grinning mischievously, he kissed the inside of my left thigh. He suddenly broke free from my grasp and his mouth shattered me thoroughly and not-so-quietly into pieces. Overwhelmed by the rush of divine pleasure coursing through my veins, I surrendered to his control.

Unrecognizable sounds escaped me as Jamie’s masterful tongue worked me into a frenzy. Tears sprang to the corners of my eyes — a common occurrence since our reunion less than 24 hours ago — as a certain awareness flooded my senses: this was the first time in eighteen years that I was _enjoying_ romantic intimacy.

Frank and I had tried after Brianna was born, but his touch only roused me when I could close my eyes and pretend his hands were Jamie’s — a practice that had gone unnoticed during the exceedingly rare instances we even tried to be intimate. But here, in this moment, I didn’t need to pretend anymore. I no longer had to exercise the same brain cells I used to retain medical terminology to conjure memories of the detailed outlines of Jamie’s hands. He was here, with me, and my mind had finally allowed itself to grasp the weight of that truth.

“Jamie,” I cried, feeling my hips move in an increasingly erratic pace. “Jamie, please, I need you inside me.”

In an instant, his mouth was on mine, and tears of joyous relief streamed down my face as he easily slid home. The doubts I had carried for years about my own sexual abilities evaporated as my body continued to familiarize itself with Jamie’s each time we joined. Time hadn’t erased the pure _rightness_ I felt in Jamie’s arms, and as we fell over the precipice together, our long-lost souls became one again.

Shuddering, Jamie’s body collapsed on top of mine. We held each other in a sweaty embrace, waves of pure bliss crashing over us. Jamie was all I knew at that moment, and not even wild horses could keep me away from him.

\----------

“If I can be honest, Sassenach, I dinna feel my age as much as I do right after I take ye.”

Lying against him in what had seemed to become our new default position — my body curled against his, with my head and right hand firmly placed on his chest — I couldn’t help but laugh at Jamie’s candid talk, though he wasn’t alone in the sentiment behind his statement. My body, undeniably satisfied, was feeling the effects of our amorous activities at a slightly quicker and more intense rate. Muscles pulled a bit tighter, bones “cracked” more often, and things (well, things that aren’t _normally_ supposed to feel this way when one is in the throes of lovemaking) were a bit stiffer.

“A rather scientific observation, Jamie, and one I’d have to agree with. Jesus H. Roosevelt _Christ_ , my back hurts!”

“Aye, _mo nighean donn_ , I can take care of that one for ye,” Jamie whispered huskily as he kissed me once more, momentarily digging his fingers into my back and miraculously hitting the correct pressure points. I let out a louder-than-intended groan in gratitude, and though my eyes had closed in surrender to his fingers, I could feel his proud smile forming.

“I’ll take you up on more of this later, don’t you worry.”

Jamie hummed his acceptance as he moved his hands from my back to the bed, lifting his upper body to a ninety-degree angle, wincing along the way.

“Sassenach, if ye wouldna mind, I’d like to see the photos of Brianna again. I’ll admit I wasna in the best mindset yesterday to really focus on them, with those sweet long lines of yer body provin’ to be an awful distraction to me.”

Having both melted and burst into flames at his earnest plea, I jumped out of bed and grabbed the stack of photos from my dress pocket. As I walked back towards the bed, what I saw next nearly had me leaping the rest of my way there — from anticipation, curiosity, or full-blown arousal, any of those motivations seemed possible at that moment.

Jamie had opened the drawer to his side table and taken out a pair of Benjamin Franklin-like bifocals. Watching him place them on the tip of his nose, his tousled burnt-red hair perfectly framing his face, I now remembered how one could simultaneously feel pure adoration towards someone and the completely base desire to roger them. Jamie looked my way, and I spotted a slight flush beginning to form at the base of his neck as I sat on the edge of his side of the bed and placed the photos in his lap.

“Ah, I got these about about a month ago. Still gettin’ used to them, ye ken? My eyes arena what they once were, and I need a wee bit of help seeing smaller things when they’re up close now. Also for reading and such. I know I look like an auld man, Sassenach, but dinna—”

I interrupted his sweetly insecure ramblings with a gentle kiss. “Wait one second, Jamie.”

Confused, his eyes followed me across the room as I dug back through my dress pockets to find my dual-toned, cat-eye framed glasses. As soon as I crawled back into the — _our_ — cozy bed, I shyly put them on. “I needed them, too. Brianna actually picked these frames out for me, saying that the cat-eye  — or, you know, whatever these are — compliment my bone structure. I use them for reading and paperwork as well, and sometimes for certain surgeries.”

Jamie reached out and caressed my face, his eyes shining behind his own glasses.  

“I naively thought you couldna get more beautiful than ye already are, but ye seem to prove me wrong every time I think it.”

Feeling my own face blushing, I leaned into his hand. “And _you_ , my bespectacled darling, are as dashing as ever.”

Our two sets of four-eyes leaned in for another slow and tender kiss, and as Jamie eagerly pushed for another, I halfheartedly pulled away before we found ourselves distracted yet again from the task at hand.

Realizing what I had accomplished, Jamie subtly smirked before kissing the tip of my nose and grabbing the pictures from his lap.

\----------

We spent the next hour admiring the photos of Brianna I had brought with me, and I began reconstructing my own history through the stories I shared with Jamie about the moments captured in each image.

“This was on the day of her christening. We baptized her at our local Catholic church in Boston. She slept through the entire ceremony, up until the holy water woke her up. She was always such a good sleeper. And she smiles in her sleep, just like you do.”

Jamie flashed that shared smile at me, his eyes glimmering with unshed tears. “What was her first word?”

“Dog,” I replied fondly, “and ‘ _no_ ’ followed shortly after.”

Jamie’s laughter burst from deep in his chest in response to my additional observation. “Ah, Sassenach, she sounds just like a Fraser,” he observed as he flipped to the next photo.

“This was her fifth birthday. All Brianna wanted was a puppy, and she begged relentlessly for one. She’s quite stubborn, like someone else I know,” I side-eyed him amusedly, “so the puppy she’s holding became our Newfoundland dog, Smokey.”

Each insight I gave Jamie sparked another question from him, and we both cherished this moment that we never would have dreamed of experiencing — our two bespectacled selves, lying in bed together and gawking over photos of our beautiful daughter while Jamie hung on every word I spoke about her.

“This was at my graduation from medical school. Brianna was about eight at this point, and she was just as excited as I was. We had a small celebration at our home after the ceremony, and Brianna was running around telling everyone that her mama could now cut people open.”

“As she properly should, Sassenach!” Jamie confirmed. “Ye were always a healer, but now you have the title to go wi’ it and the skills to do even more incredible things.”

“Thank you, Jamie,” I answered shyly, surprisingly pleased at how wonderful it felt to have a partner who actually expressed pride in the work I did. “Frank was resistant to it at first, but—”

I immediately stopped my verbal train of thought at the sound of the dreaded _F-word_ pouring out of me. Frank. I still didn’t know how to talk to Jamie about him. _Do I even talk about him? What do I say? What would he want to hear? Am I overthinking it—?_

“Claire?”

“Jamie?” I responded, trying my best to appear nonchalant while fighting back my increased heart rate at his use of my name and the rather worrying tone he adopted in saying it.

“Ye told me when we first looked at these photos yesterday that Frank knew everythin’ about me and that he had died when Brianna was 10.”

“That’s right.” My feigned nonchalance quickly fading, I fidgeted with my hands to expel the anxiety gradually building within me.

“And ye told Brianna the truth when she was 15, aye?”

I nodded, focusing every ounce of energy on holding back the tears that threatened to reappear.

“Were ye—” Jamie paused, and I could see his brain whirring at how to proceed “Well, ah, did Frank — how did he handle it all? The truth, I mean. Knowing about me.”

Jamie’s question transported my brain through a decade of long-repressed memories within seconds.

_Waking up in a freezing hospital room, Frank bursting in and hugging me while I remained on the verge of an emotional breakdown._

_Spilling out details of my life with Jamie to Frank, his own expressions evoking a battle between grief, acceptance, and a subtle yet powerful hint of disbelief._

_Tearfully accepting Frank’s conditions of removing every mention of Jamie from my life._

_The selfish and irrational twinge of disgust that hit the pit of my stomach every time I heard Frank call Brianna_ his _daughter._

_The everpresent guilt I felt from never being able to let go of Jamie in order to fully fall back into life with Frank._

I couldn’t assess how long I had wandered through these memories, jolting back into reality only upon hearing Jamie’s regret-filled attempt to reel back his question: “Ah, Sassenach, I’m sorry, I ken it’s none of my business, I shouldna have asked—”

“No,” I pushed back reassuringly, grabbing Jamie’s hand and gently squeezing it. “It’s okay, it _is_ your business.”

Jamie squeezed my hand in return and I took a deep breath to steady myself.

“He knew everything about you. I told him as much as he was willing to listen to, but we had made a promise to each other to not tell Brianna. Shortly after I returned to the twentieth century, we moved to Boston so he could take a teaching position, and that’s where we lived until I came back here.”

Jamie nodded in acknowledgment, nervously glancing down at our entwined hands. I knew he was deciding whether to stop at this juncture or continue peeling back my own mask, bringing my years with Frank to life in his mind.

“So, when ye returned, he still loved ye?”

“Yes. He — he loved Brianna as well, so we tried our best to make it work.”

I could see Jamie building up his courage to ask the one question he was too afraid to initially ask, and though I would correctly guess it, I still wasn’t prepared to hear it.

“Were ye happy wi’ him? Did he make ye happy?”

And there it was. A loaded question with an equally loaded answer. Frank had made me feel loved, belittled, desired, betrayed, unwanted, empowered, supported, and completely alone. How I felt about Frank went beyond a “ _yes_ ” or “ _no_.” But how could I express that to Jamie without sounding like a bumbling idiot? I couldn’t; therefore, I pulled back those threads and answered him with a core truth that underlaid the competing realities.

“I was happy,” I hesitated, searching for the right words, “raising Brianna with him. He was a very good father to her.”

For a millisecond, I observed an unfamiliar expression flash across his face. Actually, it had been the same expression I first saw Jamie convey when I asked him last night about his move to Edinburgh. I wouldn’t tell him this, but his revelations had accounted for all but a little over a year in the eighteen years we were apart, and I couldn’t stop thinking about what possibly had filled that small window of time in his life.

Both of us opened our mouths to speak — me, to give Jamie a more accurate bit of insight into my life with Frank; Jamie, seemingly hellbent on saying _something_ — when the bells outside rang eight times.

Jamie immediately panicked upon hearing that final bell. “ _Christ,_ the print shop! I’m late, Sassenach, I have to go.” His naked body flew around the room, grabbing his clothing at lightning speed and speedily dressing for the day. “I have tae run, but I’ll see ye when I return.”

My heart sank at his sudden impending departure, for both physical and emotional reasons, but I managed a smile and nodded. “I’ll be right here.”

Jamie bent down and kissed me softly, turning my insides into liquid warmth. However, his eyes didn’t completely meet mine as he gave a hint of a nod towards me in return and headed out the door.

As I turned over onto my right side and pulled the covers over me, I grew sure of one thing: something was upsetting him. I simply hoped it wasn’t about me.

\----------

**_January 1966_ **

It had been a week since Mama left for her journey back to the eighteenth century, and I missed her more than I ever thought I could.

I knew it was the right decision to send her back to Jamie. She had spent so much of her life with a core piece of her soul shelved away. Ever since she told me about Jamie, I realized how much of our relationship during those first fifteen years of my life made more sense, now that I knew she’d had to keep the biggest secret of her life from me.

My life and identity were thrown into chaos a few weeks after my fifteenth birthday. A friend of Mama’s, Reverend Wakefield, had invited us to Scotland for a weeklong venture. His adopted son, Roger, was six years older than me and an aspiring historian. While Mama and the Reverend were holed up in the Reverend’s office, Roger and I became fast friends. We realized we shared a similar fiery curiosity for our own academic interests, and neither of us grew tired of hearing the other’s observations on anything and everything. Roger wasn’t intimidated by my opinions, and it was refreshing to befriend a man who respected what I had to say.

We had only been in Scotland for a few days when, one evening, Mama brought me into the Reverend’s living room and sat down beside me on the navy plush couch. My eyes flickered to the stacks of paper gathered on the wooden coffee table. She took my hands into her own, and I immediately knew _something_ was up. Taking a shuddering breath, Mama began pouring out fifteen years’ worth of stories and observations that she had seemingly protected and collected over the years — thoughts that she clearly had wanted to tell me. Using Daddy’s research scattered before us, she told me the story of her life with Jamie Fraser, trying her best to create a paper trail for me.

_The numerous “Missing Person” fliers Daddy posted around Inverness shortly after Mama had apparently disappeared around Craigh Na Dun. The journal entries from Mrs. Graham, describing the mysterious happenings she and her fellow druids observed. The signatures from Jamie and Mama on their marriage contract. The records tracking the locations of a Jamie Fraser and a Jack Randall over the years. The Inverness newspaper clippings endlessly raving about Mama’s “mysterious” return over three years later. The clippings from the local Boston papers, announcing the birth of Brianna Ellen Randall, dated approximately seven months after Mama had returned to the present._

I was paralyzed the entire time, inching closer by the minute to the point of both informational and emotional overload. Once Mama had reached a natural stopping point, I stood up and left the room. Making a beeline to the guest bedroom I was sharing upstairs with Mama, I slammed the door and stifled my sobs into my chunky heather grey sweater, sliding down the wall until I was huddled on the floor.

From that moment, another two days would pass before I spoke to her again.

I needed the silence. I know, in hindsight, it wasn’t fair to Mama. It wasn’t fair to anybody. But I needed to process what I had just heard. Mama went back in time 200 years. She married another man for her protection, and fell in love with him. Those two were my actual parents, and this Jamie Fraser had sent her back to Daddy to protect the two of us from the Battle of Culloden. And Daddy knew about all of this throughout the entire decade I had with him. He never said a word, and forbade Mama from saying anything as well. I tried to understand, but all I could feel was devastation and a sense of betrayal.

Mama and I spent the next two years living through the entire emotional spectrum. Months of grief, anger, confusion, despondence, mistrust — and there was nobody for me to blame but her. Daddy had been the one to lay out the conditions, and she had accepted them. There were days where I’d cry silently in my bedroom, not even sure what was motivating it — sadness for what Mama had to bear; anger that I had been raised under the false identity as Frank Randall’s daughter; a glimmer of guilt at my quicker-than-expected acceptance of Mama’s story ( _I never understood where my red hair came from, and now I had an answer_ ); and outright grief at the loss of the simple life I had lived for fifteen years.

However, even through those tumultuous months, Mama never closed me off from her. It was strange — though she had been always been caring, loving, and very involved  in my life, Mama had a subtle air that indicated she was hiding a side of herself she wanted nobody to know. A side she didn’t want to show me or Daddy, instead burying it in her work as a doctor. But now that I knew what _exactly_ that secret part of herself contained, it felt as if Mama could finally release herself from her self-imposed cage. I was finally beginning to truly know her.

I felt terrible for her, because she had carried this revelation on her own. I was struggling enough with it, and I had people who I could process this with — Mama herself, Roger, and Joe and Gail. She told Joe and Gail shortly after we returned from Scotland, officially initiating them into our inner circle of trust. The relief was evident in her voice; and no matter how hard she tried to suppress it, her eyes glowed at any mention of Jamie’s name.

It was those observations that would eventually bring her and me to a late-night conversation at our dining room table, on New Year’s Day in 1966. During his visit to Boston for the Christmas holidays last week, Roger had brought along proof that Jamie Fraser was alive. As she gripped the paper tightly in her hands for the first time, I could immediately see the hope she had abandoned so many years ago. Hope, love, and fear. Over the following week, I carefully watched Mama process this new reality. She internally wrestled with my own comments that encouraged her to at least _consider_ going back to him.

I was 17 and getting ready to apply to college. Joe, Gail, and I had come to an agreement (“agreement” seemed like too formal of a word, considering Gail’s bear-hug squeeze that immediately followed my ask to come live with them), and they wholeheartedly joined my own push to give Mama another chance at a life with Jamie. Yes, I wanted my mother around for the big moments I would experience in life — but I no longer _needed_ her. She had given up the most powerful love in her life for me, and now I had the chance to give it back to her.

It was at that dining room table that I gave her the final push to go. I knew that she wouldn’t go without my complete and honest approval. That night, with our hands tightly joined and tears running down both of our faces, I gave her the permission she desperately needed. Three weeks later, I stood at the window of our home and waved goodbye to her before turning around and sobbing into Roger’s arms.

She was, and always would be, the most incredible woman I ever knew. And for Jamie Fraser to have captivated Mama as deeply as he had, I knew he must be something special, too. I hope they found each other, and that they were truly happy. But I now understood why Mama had been hesitant to research Jamie, even years after Daddy had died. I didn’t want to spend the years ahead of me chasing after a ghost. I was certain that Mama had been dead for nearly two centuries at this point, and it was best for me to search no further beyond that conclusion.

I know I did the right thing in sending Mama back. But this was an example of when doing the right thing hurts like absolute hell.


	4. Update! :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I posted the below excerpt on my Tumblr page, but I wanted to update you all on AO3 who have been following this story. Y’all’s support means THE WORLD to me, and I can’t wait to keep sharing this story with y’all.

Hello, lovelies!!! First off, a very HAPPY World Outlander Day to all of you fans, readers, writers, GIF creators, video creators, and creators of artwork of this beautiful story. I have fallen in love repeatedly with the incredible journey of Jamie and Claire Fraser, and that love led me to finding a place on here where I’m constantly surrounded by magnificent talent that keeps the heart of this story front and center in this corner of the world. 

Which leads me to this— _Third Time’s The Charm_ is still happening, and the entire arc is outlined! However, as someone who always errs on the side of transparency, the first-time writer in me is a LITTLE intimidated by the expectations I imposed on myself when I first started this story. I am someone who craves the idea of a weekly posting schedule, and I still hold true to that love. But as I’ve changed the arc of this story over time ( _DO NOT WORRY, the prologue IS STILL A THING. Everything that happened in that flash-forward is still happening! Jamie and Claire will get there, it’s just a little bit of adjusting on my end!_ ), I’m realizing that I need and want to be in a place where I have several chapters fully written, so that I can allow myself time to write and update and share this story with you all.

So, **TL/DR** : Chapter 3 is almost ready. It’s not _quite_ there, but I’m about 70% pleased with it. So, a preview is below in honor of World Outlander Day. After Chapter 3 posts sometime next week, the story will go on a temporary break until the end of June. At that point, once I’ve gone deeper into my story, I’ll resume my weekly Saturday posts. :) 

Thank you all who have liked, shared, given kudos, commented on, and/or read my story. Your support means the world to me, and frankly makes me feel like I’m doing an okay job at this for the first time! And I’ll still be around here plenty, reading and sharing fic and commenting on the talent in this fandom. <3 

Now, how about a preview??

* * *

The frigid January air nearly knocked the breath out of me as I flew through the door and sprinted towards the print shop. I cursed myself for running behind my daily schedule — but more importantly, for having to leave behind the pure bliss of sharing a bed with Claire again. 

Claire was  _ here _ . Claire came back to me. I had held her in my arms, explored every inch of her, and memorized the subtle changes of her body. The day I sent her back through the stones, I left behind any hope of seeing her again. Even though I physically felt the curves of her body pressed against me this morning, the shock and disbelief had not yet departed my mind.

My lungs overloaded from the combination of physical and mental exertion, I slowed into a walk and began processing the last twenty-four hours. What had started as a normal morning quickly transformed into an out-of-body experience that I still could not believe was mine to live. Claire was back, and she  _ still wanted me. _ Or, at least, I hoped she still did. 

As I turned onto Carfax Close, I spotted the familiar figure of a tall, lanky man with tight brown curls outside my shop’s entrance. Bundled up in a thick navy coat, he paced back and forth, fending off the same bitter wind that I had encountered on my walk here. 

“Ah, Fergus, I’m so sorry I kept ye waiting,” I yelled while dashing up the stairway. “I lost track o’ time, and now I’m an hour behind! Yer help will be truly appreciated.”

Fergus’s relief upon hearing my voice was displayed on his face. “Oh!  _ C’est rien _ . I figured you would be, um —  _ preoccupied _ — after yesterday.” 

Fergus had followed me to Edinburgh after I moved six months ago and spent most of his time participating in the active smuggling business in the city. I hated the idea of him investing so many hours engaging in a dangerous activity, so I brought him on board to help me run the print shop a few days a week. He would come in three times a week for a few hours to help organize the materials, which not only provided me with necessary help, but it also allowed me to check in on him without being too overbearing.

He had stopped by the print shop not long after Claire found me. Claire embraced Fergus in a motherly squeeze, and their reunion was the first visible and bittersweet reminder to me of exactly  _ how much _ time had passed during our separation. The last time we’d all been together, the top of Fergus’s mane of curly hair barely passed Claire’s shoulders; now, Claire had to stand on the tips of her toes to maintain her solid grasp on Fergus, who had shot up to well over six feet.

I could feel the heat creeping up my neck in response to Fergus’s remark, my eyes darting to the floor as I fumbled for the keys in my coat. “Aye, ah, we still have quite a bit to catch up on wi’ each other.” As I unlocked the door, I could hear Fergus’s quiet chuckling, followed by a typical quip: “I meant that you and Milady would have quite a lot to  _ discuss _ , but it sounds as though I was only half-right.” I gently whacked him on the back of his head as I followed him into the shop, though I couldn’t resist the smile inspired by flashbacks of last night. The imprint of Claire against my chest remained with me as Fergus and I trotted downstairs and began preparing the inks and papers. He slowly approached me as I laid out the first print impression for the day, carefully aligning the galley within the frame.

 


	5. Bittersweet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie has a lot of feelings to process now that he and Claire are reunited, and the two of them take a step forward together.

The frigid January air nearly knocked the breath out of me as I flew through the door and sprinted towards the print shop. I cursed myself for running behind my daily schedule — but more importantly, for having to leave behind the pure bliss of sharing a bed with Claire again. 

 

Claire was  _ here _ . She came back to me. I had held her in my arms, explored every inch of her, and memorized the subtle changes of her body over the past day. When I sent her back through the stones, I left behind any hope of seeing her again. Even though I physically felt the curves of Claire’s body pressed against me this morning, the shock and disbelief of her sudden appearance had not yet departed my mind.

 

My lungs overloaded from the combination of physical and mental exertion, I slowed into a walk and began processing the last twenty-four hours. What had started as a normal morning quickly transformed into an out-of-body experience that I still could not believe was mine to live. My wife was back, and she still wanted me. Or, at least, I hoped she still did. 

 

As I turned onto Carfax Close, I spotted the familiar figure of a tall, lanky man with tight brown curls outside my shop’s entrance. Bundled up in a thick navy coat, he paced back and forth, fending off the same bitter wind that I had encountered on my walk here. 

 

“Ah, Fergus, I’m so sorry I kept ye waiting,” I yelled while dashing up the stairway. “I lost track o’ time, and now I’m an hour behind! Yer help will be truly appreciated.”

 

Fergus’s relief upon hearing my voice was displayed on his face. “Oh!  _ C’est rien _ . I figured you would be, um —  _ preoccupied _ — after yesterday.” 

 

Fergus had followed me to Edinburgh after I moved six months ago and spent most of his time participating in the active smuggling business in the city. I hated the idea of him investing so many hours engaging in a dangerous activity, so I brought him on board to help me run the print shop a few days a week. He would come in three times a week for a few hours to help organize the materials, which not only provided me with necessary help, but it also allowed me to check in on him without being too overbearing.

 

He had stopped by the print shop not long after Claire found me. She embraced Fergus in a motherly squeeze, and their reunion was the first visible and bittersweet reminder to me of exactly  _ how much _ time had passed during our separation. The last time we had all been together, the top of Fergus’s mane of curly hair barely passed Claire’s shoulders; now, Claire had to stand on the tips of her toes to maintain her solid grasp on Fergus, who had shot up to well over six feet.

 

I could feel the heat creeping up my neck in response to Fergus’s remark, my eyes darting to the floor as I fumbled for the keys in my coat. “Aye, ah, we still have quite a bit to catch up on wi’ each other.” As I unlocked the door, I could hear Fergus’s quiet chuckling, followed by a typical quip: “I meant that you and Milady would have quite a lot to  _ discuss _ , but it sounds as though I was only half-right.” I gently whacked him on the back of his head as I followed him into the shop, though I couldn’t resist the smile inspired by flashbacks of last night. The imprint of Claire against my chest remained with me as Fergus and I trotted downstairs and began preparing the inks and papers. He slowly approached me as I laid out the first print impression for the day, carefully aligning the galley within the frame.

 

“Milord?”

 

“Fergus?”

 

“You told me that Milady was pregnant when she returned to her own time.”

 

“Aye, she was.” One night, when Fergus visited me in the cave, I told him the complete truth about Claire. In hindsight, I knew it was the fear that I would slowly forget the details of Claire’s journey that motivated my decision to tell him. He became my recordkeeper of her life, patiently listening to the stories I told of my life with her. Besides Murtagh, Fergus was the only person in my time who knew the real story. 

 

“And how is the child?”

 

I placed the frame down and turned to Fergus, my eyes glimmering with tears for what felt like the thousandth time in the past day. “She’s so braw,  _ mon fils. _ Claire and I have a daughter. Her name is Brianna.” My chest tightened at the knowledge that Claire had kept her promise to me, our daughter’s name rooted in my father’s. “She is seventeen years old,”  _ old enough for marriage _ , I reflected, “and she wants to go to university and study history.” I could not hide the immense pride I carried as I continued telling Fergus all I knew about her. “She loves spending time outdoors. She has red hair and blue eyes, just like mine. And she was the one who encouraged Claire to come back to me.”

 

Fergus smiled fondly at me in return, reaching his arm behind me and patting my left shoulder twice. “It is so wonderful that you finally know about her. You and Milady deserve a chance at happiness together, and I am so glad for you two.”

 

I grabbed Fergus and hugged him tightly. The past day had stripped me emotionally bare, and I could not help but remember the years when the young lad was one of my only companions. He kept me company through the loneliest moments of my life, and I sometimes wondered if I would have made it through without him. 

 

Taking a step back, Fergus’s expression grew concerned. “So...how did Milady take the news?”

 

“What news?” I asked, puzzled at Fergus’s unease. 

 

“Well, Laoghaire? Since, I suppose, you two are still technically married?”

 

What had taken form as an ever-present warmth in my chest, spurred on by Claire’s presence, quickly turned into a violent punch in the gut.  _ Laoghaire.  _ The single piece of the past eighteen years that I had not shared with Claire — the piece that oversaw a failed attempt at a marriage between two people who did not love one another. A marriage that both Laoghaire and I ventured into for our own selfish reasons, leaving us even more wounded at the end.

 

_ Near the end of my six years of conditional release at Lallybroch, Jenny made it her mission to find a purpose for me. The six years I spent with Jenny, Ian, and their children at Lallybroch consisted of so many joyous moments — birthdays, marriages, new bairns, and other celebrations of life. But each moment also deepened the well of grief I carried. I thought of Claire and our child at every gathering, wanting nothing more than to live in a world where she and I could revel in our own moments of celebration as a family of three — hearing my son or daughter say their first word, watching them take their first steps, leading them on their first fishing and hunting trips, teaching them the ways of life. Jenny knew I desperately yearned for a family of my own, and that I had done everything possible to permanently shut the door on that option once I sent Claire back.  _

 

_ Jenny decided to take action. At Hogmanay during my final year at Lallybroch, Laoghaire came to the celebrations — at Jenny’s request  — with her two young daughters, Marsali and Joanie, 11 and 7. I had not seen her in over fifteen years, and we talked throughout the evening. The last time I encountered Laoghaire, she was an immature lass who nursed a jealous vendetta against Claire. As she and I chatted that evening, I discovered that time had not been kind to her either. I could never reciprocate the love Laoghaire carried for me, so she had lived through two marriages, becoming a widow twice over. Jenny knew the right things to say to trigger my long-buried wants, and at the end of a month of relentless badgering from her,  Laoghaire and I were wed in a small ceremony. _

 

_ I never liked talking about the time I spent with her. We both wanted things that neither of us could give the other. Laoghaire needed a man who truly loved her; I desired a family of my own making. It felt good to be needed for the first time in years, as both a father figure and a husband, but the facade only lasted a few months. We quickly realized that no amount of effort could make it work, and I moved out of her home six months after we were married. _

 

“I havena told her yet,” I admitted, my eyes fixated on his while my voice dropped several decibels — a failed attempt to make my clear deception less obvious.

 

Fergus’s eyes widened at the revelation, a key trait of the glass face he and Sassenach both possessed.

 

“Why not tell her?”

 

“I— I’m so ashamed,” I muttered softly while leaning back against the printing press. “Laoghaire was never kind to Claire. She was so childish during our time at Castle Leoch, goin’ so far as to put an ill wish under our bed. Marrying her had always felt like I betrayed Claire.”

 

“Maybe Milady would understand, though? You truly believed you would never see her again in this lifetime.”

 

“Would she?” I blurted out. “Fergus.” My voice wavered under the crushing weight of anxiety. “I canna lose her. I would do anythin’ to keep her wi’ me. Now that she’s here, I—” I gripped the press on either side with both hands, transferring the nervous energy coursing through my veins. “I dinna think I can survive losing her again. I canna let her believe I so easily moved on.”

 

Fergus moved closer and stood directly in front of me, no more than a foot of distance between us. “You should tell her about Laoghaire, Milord. You cannot keep this from her forever, even if you and Laoghaire did end things peacefully. Secrets, but not lies, remember?”

 

Using my own words against me. He had me there. “Aye, ye’re right. But how do I explain this to her?” 

 

“By being honest with her. You thought you could make a better life for yourself by joining another family, and it did not work. Did you not send Milady and Brianna back to Frank for their own protection and happiness?”

 

“That was different,” I uttered faintly. The feeling of another unforgiving punch in the gut took the wind out of my lungs, but it was not caused by a sense of guilt this time; at least, not entirely. I did not know how to navigate the current wave of emotions flooding my senses, but there was one thing I knew for certain.

 

I was irrationally and completely jealous of Frank Randall.

 

\---------------

 

The jealousy took hold the day Claire told me of his existence — the moment when, two decades ago, she’d explained she was from the future and she had a husband waiting for her. When Claire chose to stay with me, pleading with me to take her home to Lallybroch, Frank Randall became nothing more than a faceless name in the back of my mind. But once I sent Claire back, his presence re-emerged with a persistent force that strengthened in intensity over the years. The part of myself I wanted to believe in _hoped_ that Frank took Claire back, but the thought of everything that would come afterwards racked my body with surges of nausea and anger: Frank waking up with _my wife_ every morning, after taking her to their bed the night before; Frank calling Claire _his_ _wife_ ; Frank claiming _my child_ as his own; Frank being the lucky bastard to spend the rest of his life with the two people I loved more than anything in this world. The visions of their life together kept me company, an unwelcome visitor who always found me in my lowest moments. 

 

I knew that Claire noticed my body tense as soon as she mentioned Frank this morning. The pride and love I felt while looking at the pictures of Brianna were matched only by the sadness and envy brewing in a corner of my heart that I was too ashamed to recognize. Claire’s hesitation in her answers to my questions about Frank only heightened my own awareness of that devilish duo of emotions. 

 

Claire did not deserve any of this. She had done nothing wrong. I was the one who made her promise to return to her time, and I forced her to keep her word.  She was the only person I could talk to about anything, but what could I say to her about this? “ _ I’m jealous of the fact that you lived a happy life with Frank and that he raised our daughter, which were the exact reasons for me sending you back” _ ? 

 

Lost in the haze of my chaotic thoughts, it took Fergus physically shaking my shoulders to pull me back to reality. “Milord, are you alright? What is it?”

 

My body jolted in response and I found myself staring into his worried eyes. “Nothing.” I smiled halfheartedly. “All is well, only a wee bit tired.”

 

Fergus’s expression suggested that he did not believe me, but he decided not to push. “What is your plan for the Laoghaire situation, then? Milady’s return means that you are no longer married to her,  _ non _ ?”

 

Upon hearing his question, I shoveled my own emotions back underground for now, shifting my focus to the tasks at hand. “Fergus, I need ye to find Ned Gowan for me. He should be at his office a few blocks away. Ask him to please come see me at the print shop whenever he can. I want a legal end to the marriage to Laoghaire, and I want to do it wi’ as little trouble for her and her girls as possible.”

 

Fergus squeezed my shoulder and nodded in understanding. “Aye, I can do that.”

 

He grabbed his coat before jogging up the stairs and out the door, leaving me with my warring thoughts. Alone for the first time in a full day, I exhaled deeply, pulled out my glasses, placed them carefully on my nose, and finalized the first of many prints. 

 

\----------

 

I worked at a speedier rate than normal, thanks to Fergus’s assistance and to taking no breaks until the advertisements and essays were ready for pickup. Four hours later, I bolted home, desperate to return to my wife. Once I entered the toasty interior of the House of Joy and began shedding my coat, my heart beamed at what I witnessed before me.

 

Claire was sitting on one of the dark oak roundtables at the center of the living room, her slate blue skirt hiding her dangling feet and the shape of her white cotton shirt shifting with the movement of her hands. She was surrounded by six of Madame Jeanne’s girls, all seemingly mesmerized by Claire’s captivating discussion ( _ not to mention her gorgeous whisky eyes and dark curls, traits of hers that enchanted me from the moment we met _ ) _.  _ I had lost track of time before one of the girls spoke up.

 

“Wait, Mrs. Fraser,” said a petite brunette woman who sat next to Claire’s left knee, “ye’re tellin’ us tha’ there’s no good way to prevent a bairn?” 

 

“Well, the teas and sponges that many of you say you use wouldn’t necessarily  _ increase  _ your chances of getting pregnant, but they’re not guaranteed preventions. Mugwort brewed in tea can be very effective, but again, it’s unfortunately not a guarantee.”

 

“See, ye numpty? Do ye get it now, Mollie?” One of the other girls, clearly exasperated by the brunette’s question, turned towards her while crossing her arms. “We can do everythin’ right and follow the ol’ wives tales, but tis no’ enough.”

 

“Ye dinna ken that!” Mollie retorted, her voice squeaking in frustration. “Why do ye get off on always making yerself look smarter than the rest of us, tis so—”

 

“There  _ are _ ways to keep yourself safe,” Claire interjected, placing her hand on Mollie’s right shoulder. “I’m more than happy to explain these methods to you all. Many of them are easy to do every day, and they can help keep you child-free.”

 

“One of the girls here had a customer a few weeks ago who said somethin’ rather strange,” said another woman sitting to Claire’s right. “He told her that if the man pulls away from the woman before he, ye ken,  _ finishes _ , she would never have te worry about a bairn.”

 

“So,” Claire responded, “there’s a name that we have in the medical field for couples who rely on that to prevent having children.”

 

“And what is it?” Mollie shyly asked.

 

A hint of a smile emerged on my bonny wife’s glass face, as if she was suppressing the urge to laugh. “We call them  _ parents _ .”

 

Gasps, followed by a small chorus of laughs, echoed throughout the main living room, and I snuck a peek at Claire. She looked quite proud of herself for the wee joke, and I could not help but laugh myself. Her golden eyes traced the room until they locked with mine. I had never wished for amenities from the future as much as I did in that moment, because I wanted nothing more than to capture a photograph of the radiant and giddy smile  _ mo nighean donn _ wore upon seeing me.

 

“Ladies, I have to run, but you can ask me any questions that you may have in the future,” Claire concluded as she jumped off the table and strode towards me, never taking her eyes off mine. 

 

“Hello there.” Claire’s smile, combined with the adorable tone she greeted me with, made me want to tell societal customs to go hang by ravishing her right then and there. 

 

“Hello yerself, Sassenach,” I responded, heat pooling in my stomach. “Ye had quite the audience just now. People love listenin’ to ye,  _ a nighean _ , as do I.” 

 

Claire’s immediate blush filled her cheeks and drew attention to the glow in her eyes. She turned slightly backwards to glance at where the ladies, now dispersed, had gathered around her. Circling back to me, she could not disguise the well-deserved pride on her face. “I wasn’t sure what to do while you were gone, so I came downstairs and started chatting with some of the women while eating breakfast. They discovered that I was your wife and a doctor, and while some were quite devastated about my first revelation,” a mischievous smirk crossing her face, “they began asking me all sorts of questions about certain ailments and remedies. As it turns out, they had never met a woman who practiced medicine. And two hours later, here we are.”

 

I grabbed Claire’s right hand and pressed it to my mouth, overwhelmed with a benign form of possessiveness. She was mine, I was hers, and that was all that mattered. 

 

\----------

 

That evening, Claire and I lounged on the couch, our limbs entwined, as we enjoyed whisky in front of the fire. Ever since I watched her lively interactions with the women earlier, I could not stop thinking of a certain question I wanted to ask her. However, that question would lead to another, and each inquiry would bring me further out on a potentially shaky limb. She had only been here for a little over twenty-four hours, but I could no longer hold it in.

 

“Sassenach?” Her head turned up towards me, and she shifted her body into a more comfortable stance. “Can I ask ye a question?”

 

“Of course,” she answered reassuringly, taking my free hand into hers.

 

“I canna help but think about how happy ye looked today, talking with the women about all of the medical things. Ye get the same look on yer face that ye have when we’re together. Would ye—” I swallowed, “would ye like to work as a healer? Here?”

 

The relief on her face calmed my jittery nerves, her answering smile reaching her eyes. “I really enjoy medicine, and I love helping people and educating them on how to take care of themselves. I know that you work long hours as a printer, so I could help bring in money as a healer, and we could—”

 

“Find a home of our own?” I excitedly interrupted her, feeling both a rising tide of hope and a swift kick of embarrassment at possibly showing too much of my hand. Panicking, I reeled back my statement. “Ah, I mean, we can talk about that later if ye decide to stay here with me, ye just got back and I know we have a lot to talk about. I just thought, ye ken, we shouldna stay in this room forever—”

 

“Jamie.” Claire squeezed my hand and leaned in, placing her forehead against mine. “Do you  _ really _ think I came all this way to make love to you once, and then leave?” 

 

“Well,” I chuckled quietly, “technically, it’s been more than once—”

 

Claire whacked me in the arm and I could not resist laughing as we parted. Amidst the battling emotions I had dealt with today, it felt wonderful to simply collapse into giggles with her. Once we calmed ourselves down, Claire sighed and softly cleared her throat. 

 

“For so long,” Claire began, “I dreamt of having a home with you. Of building a life together. Brianna sent me back to you so we could do just that.” Tears filled her eyes, and Claire’s breathing shuddered before continuing. “I want to cherish the everyday moments with you. Neither of us thought we’d ever have that chance with each other again.”

 

“So, yes.” Claire wrapped her arms around my neck and scooted sideways into my lap. “I want you to work at the print shop while I work as a healer. I want us to have a space of our own; maybe even have a small house one day, with a cat and a vase and a garden. I want our place to be filled with things we create and discover together.  _ You  _ are my home, Jamie Fraser, and I’m not going anywhere.”

 

I pulled her against my chest as tears welled in my eyes. I knew that we still had things to discuss with each other. The shadows of Frank and Laoghaire threatened to steal the light I currently held in my arms. For now, though, I surrendered those worries to the night and focused on my heart finally returning to me. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your support and for reading!! As I mentioned in Saturday's post, this story won't have any new updates until the end of June, while I take the month to write ahead. Claire and Jamie will be going on quite an adventure this summer. Y'all's support means the absolute world to me!<3


	6. The Realities We Make (February 1764/February 1967)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie and Claire make a decision, Claire reunites with long-lost family, and Brianna tries to shut the door on the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're back!! Thank you all so very much for your support, engagement, and comments. This story is near and dear to my heart, and I can't wait to take you on Jamie and Claire's journey with me. <3

**_February 1764_ **

The week since Jamie and I had reunited was nothing short of thrilling. Reacquainting ourselves with the lines and curves of one another, a faint yet consistent drum of relief beat in my chest that every touch and kiss still felt like  _ us.  _ Though nearly two decades of separation proved to be no match for the metaphysical connection our bodies shared, I discovered it was more challenging for me to release long-held emotional burdens I’d carried alone; I sensed that same hesitation in Jamie as well. Despite our hours spent together, side-by-side in the bed we shared, our conversations implicitly recognized a line of demarcation that neither of us were willing to cross. It was a boundary that I feared upon breaching would rudely awaken us from the blissful dream we were relishing in together.

In vulnerable moments, I worried that we’d never be able to remove that barrier and return to the place where we knew every inch of one another’s fears and desires. But my mind quickly squashed those encroaching doubts, reminding myself that Jamie and I had forged through eighteen years of separation, and we simply needed more time — time that we’d cherish as a settled couple. From the moment Jamie asked me about finding a home of our own and exploring my career possibilities in Edinburgh, both questions took hold in my thoughts. What I didn’t expect, however, was that we’d discover the answers throughout the course of a lucky and seemingly divine interaction. 

The two of us had comfortably fallen into a routine. Jamie would venture to the print shop shortly before sunrise, and I would spend my day researching Edinburgh and the general landscape of the medical field in this time period. I’d stop by Jamie’s shop every afternoon near the end of his shift, and we’d spend the remaining hour or two before sundown exploring the city we had decided to call home, our hands always entwined and noses turning red from the blustery cold. 

One afternoon, with the wintry air chilling our bones in seconds, Jamie and I sought refuge in the encompassing warmth of our local apothecary shop. My heart nearly leapt out as I took in the  _ hundreds  _ of medicines, oils, and herbs that lined the shelves on each wall. Amidst our wandering through the shop, Jamie and I met the owner. Dr. John Morgan had studied medicine at the Royal College of Physicians of Edinburgh, and he later opened up his apothecary shop on High Street. Over the course of a decade, his business had grown substantially, serving as the most visited apothecary in Edinburgh. 

“I’ve been blessed by God with this business’s success,” Dr. Morgan stated as he took off his clouded spectacles and cleaned them against his shirt, “but between seeing patients, prescribing medicines, and running the shop itself, I’m here nearly fourteen hours a day with almost no time for family.” He sighed deeply as he placed his glasses back on. “I’ve been looking for another healer to possibly bring on for help, but I’ve had no luck.” My eyes locked with Jamie’s, and for a moment, I was grateful that time hadn’t eroded our ability to wordlessly communicate with one another. 

Several hours and two rounds of celebratory whiskies later, Jamie and I were floating on clouds as we meandered back towards the House of Joy, giddy beyond measure. Dr. Morgan, impressed with my medical background and unconcerned by the possibly taboo notion of women practicing medicine, invited me to work for his apothecary shop as a physician. The pay was more than enough, and I would have my own space to serve patients, consisting of two examination tables and a tall wooden cabinet with all of the medical supplies I could possibly need (at least, the supplies that existed in this century). Jamie and I were already willing to accept the offer when Dr. Morgan threw in another benefit that, unknowingly to him, proved to us that only fate could have made this encounter possible.

The second floor of the apothecary shop served as a two-bedroom living space, which had remained occupied until a few months ago. The flat consisted of a generous living room to the left; a makeshift kitchen area and dining table to the right; a cozy yet comfortable room in the back, with a fireplace and an intricately patterned four-post bed; and additional space that could serve any purpose we desired. The apartment featured at least one window in each room, immersing the area in natural light. In terms of practicality, we were only a ten-minute stroll from Jamie’s shop, and I doubted that the location, space, and rent could be bested. 

_ “Ye look at home,  _ a nighean _.” I turned to see Jamie leaning against the open doorway that led into what would likely become our bedroom, a mix of pride and hope shining in his eyes. “Ye have that expression ye get when ye’re dreamin’ and plannin’.” He approached me from behind and wrapped his arms around my waist, placing his chin above my left ear. _

_ “I was just thinking,” I started, confirming his observation, “about how this would be a first for us.” _

_ I felt Jamie’s smile against my mane of curls, a drawn-out sigh of satisfaction in response. “Aye, I didna even realize that until ye said it now. We’ve laid our heads at Leoch, Lallybroch, my cousin’s place in Paris, abandoned cottages, fields of heather, and now a well-frequented brothel. But this . . .” Our bodies swayed in unison, cherishing this rare moment of domesticity that neither of us thought we’d ever experience together again. “This will be our home to make, and  _ that _ ,” he nodded his head towards the bed in front of us and turned to whisper in my ear, “will be where I worship yer body at any and all hours of the day.” He kissed his way down my neck and stroked his hands along my sides, and I momentarily forgot that Dr. Morgan was waiting for us to finish our tour of the apartment. I unenthusiastically tried to force out a plea for him to stop, but a delighted moan was all I could muster. Pleased with himself, Jamie’s laughter vibrated against my collarbones and he paused his wandering mouth and hands, returning his arms around my waist and holding me securely.  _

_ “Jamie,” I whispered while pressing the back of my head against his chest. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy.” _

_ “Nor me, Sassenach,” he responded, his voice unusually heavy, and lightly kissed my left cheek. A few beats of silence passed, the two of us resting in our mutual assurances. _

_ “But it’s no’ just the bedding, ye ken?” he continued, surprising me with his additional insight. I turned around to look at him straight-on, gems of sapphire gazing softly upon me. _

_ “No,” I said, this time wrapping my arms around his neck. “It isn’t.” _

_ Jamie’s upper lip curled up, his eyes momentarily shooting downwards before returning to me. “To have ye with me again — to talk with ye, and to ken I hold yer heart in my hands —  _ Christ, mo ghraidh, _ ” he said. “Ye ken I canna keep my hands from ye for long,” Jamie tossing me a wry look, “but all I need is the pleasure of havin’ ye by my side, telling ye my heart.”  _

_ I placed my lips against his, pouring into our kiss the words I desperately wanted to say to him but couldn’t formulate. _

_ “So,” I noted breathlessly as we broke apart. “Are we doing this? Would this,” I gestured towards our surroundings, “be too much for you?” _

_ A childlike grin broke free across Jamie’s face. “I appreciate yer concern, Sassenach, but our life together has been nothin’ if not an adventure. And to see ye light up like ye did downstairs is more than I need to know this is right for us.”  _

_ Jamie took my hands from behind his neck and cradled them gently. “I love you, a nighean donn. I have loved ye from the moment I saw ye.” He kissed my left hand. “I will love ye ’til time itself is done.” He kissed the silver ring on my right hand. “And so long as you are by my side, I am well pleased wi’ the world.” _

\----------

The buzz of excitement continued the following day, though the emotions manifested themselves quite differently. My body briefly experienced a moment of deja vu as I dressed myself that morning; although Jamie and I had already reunited, this upcoming gathering carried its own meaningful weight. Jenny and Ian were on their way to Edinburgh from Lallybroch — a day’s worth of travel, round-trip — to bring a chest of clothing that I’d worn in Scotland and France nearly two decades ago. I was grateful for their helpfulness, as I only had my outfit I traveled in to find Jamie and a couple of borrowed ensembles from Madame Jeanne. However, the adrenaline coursing through my veins threatened to crush my lungs at the mere  _ thought _ of seeing them again.

Jamie had informed Jenny and Ian of my reappearance (described through our agreed-upon altered reality) and asked them to bring my clothing, since they were the ones who had a proper horse and wagon. They would arrive sometime today, and I found myself pacing our bedroom at the House of Joy, seeking any form of distraction until I stopped by the shop that afternoon. The deja vu continued to wrack my body as I followed a similar route I’d traveled merely a week ago. The faint sense of dread only accelerated my already quick pace, and before I could recognize my surroundings, I was opening the door to Jamie’s print shop and strolling inside. 

Less than ten feet from the entrance stood Jenny, Ian, and Jamie, each occupying a side of the rectangular table. Based on Jenny’s hunched posture, her palms splayed on the table, and Ian and Jamie’s matching cross-armed stances, I quickly realized I had interrupted some form of tense conversation. The silence grew thick as my gaze flitted between Jenny and Ian’s faces, their unusually pale complexions and bugged-out eyes giving off the impression that they had encountered a  _ literal _ ghost, which wasn’t exactly incorrect in these circumstances. 

“Sassenach, ye’re here.” Jamie’s kind yet nervous voice broke through the haze as he walked towards me, grabbed my hand, and brought me closer. I swallowed the knot threatening to cut off my vocal cords, overwhelmed by the flood of memories coursing through me as I studied Jenny and Ian. Their physical features were worn from the natural effects of age and time, similar to mine and Jamie’s. Both were frozen in shock, so I decided to follow Jamie’s lead. Casting a quick glance at Jamie, his twitch of a nod encouraging me, I stepped forward and donned a full-watted smile.

“Hello,” I greeted them softly, not wanting to further spook them. “It’s—” I looked down at my fidgeting hands, trying my hardest to compose myself as my face turned back upward, “it’s  _ so good _ to see you both again.” 

“Claire?” Ian spoke first, waves of recognition and shock battling in his expression as he slowly traveled towards me, his limp having grown more prominent over the years. “Is it you, lass?” I flew directly into his arms and embraced him tightly, tears welling as I felt his own arms encircle my back. Once we broke our embrace, Ian cast a once-over, as if he outright refused to believe I was standing in front of him. 

“When Jamie wrote to us and told us that ye were still alive, ye could ha’ knocked me over wi’ a feather.” My head whipped around at the sound of Jenny’s voice, her now-crossed arms serving as a tentative barrier to any possible display of affection between us, though a faint glaze of tears underlined her stare. “And now here ye are, right in front of our very eyes.” 

“Jenny.” My voice wavered as I greeted her, an unexpected well of fondness taking root in my chest. Jenny had been the nearest thing I ever had to a sister, and by far the closest female friend of my life. We had developed a special bond, one that I knew my disappearance severely threatened. More than any of that, though, was the knowledge that of all the people in the world, Jenny was the one who might love Jamie Fraser as much as I did. We cherished that common bond; but in Jenny’s eyes, I was the one who’d left Jamie broken. Her love for him was now her most effective weapon against me. 

“Where’ve ye been?” She placed her hands on her hips, the suspicion laced through her tone. “Ye come back after eighteen years, all of us livin’ for nearly two decades under the belief that ye had died, and we’re supposed to act as if none of it happened?”

I felt Ian’s hand gently press my right shoulder, and I met his confused gaze. “Forgive us, we’re just a wee bit stunned. We grieved over ye for  _ years _ , Claire.”

“I know,” I acknowledged remorsefully, grabbing Ian’s hand and squeezing it. “I sailed to America shortly after Culloden, and I thought Jamie was dead. I didn’t even know until this past year that he had survived.”

“And ye didna even think to write to us, yer family?” Jenny questioned. Her voice reflected anger, but I could see the hurt flashing in her expression. 

“We told ye,” Jamie interjected, wrapping his arm around my shoulders, his protective instincts flaring. “In the letter I sent ye, I explained where Claire was and why she couldna—”

“Aye,  _ a brathair _ , I ken what  _ the letter _ said,” she interrupted, mirroring Jamie’s snappiness. Had this encounter not been occurring amidst my interrogation, I would’ve laughed at how time  _ really _ doesn’t change certain things. “Ian and I read it over and over, but we still couldna believe it.”

Jenny moved from behind the table, her stare remaining fixed on me. “The Claire  _ I _ ken would  _ never _ ha’ stopped looking for my brother. Do ye remember sittin’ wi’ me, outside on the steps at Lallybroch, waitin’ for our husbands to come home? Was it not you and I who fought Redcoats and risked our necks to find Jamie? Where is  _ that _ Claire? Because the woman in front of me isna—” 

“ _ Janet, _ that’s enough.” 

Jamie’s sudden outburst halted her physical approach, his own forward steps placing his body slightly in front of mine. “I already told ye — I was the one who forced Claire to leave. I made her promise to flee for her own safety. Now, you both should head back home before it gets dark. Fergus has yer horse and wagon ready outside.”

Jenny’s eyes had radiated outrage towards Jamie, but cooled over time as she continued. “Aye. Well, it’s clear as day that ye two arena bein’ honest with us. And we ken what happens when certain secrets are left untold,  _ especially _ if ye think ye can handle them yerself.” Her unwavering focus on Jamie during that last sentence, spoken as if it were a warning, spiked my heart rate as I wondered to what she was referring. As Ian and Jenny headed towards the door, she turned around once more. “Tis a wonderful thing to see ye well, Claire. But I canna lie to ye and say that the years witnessin’ Jamie’s grief havena caused anger in my heart towards ye. I need time, and I need honesty. From ye  _ both _ .”

“I understand, Jenny,” I answered, my shaky tone undermining my response. “Jamie and I will come visit you all very soon.” She nodded in acknowledgement and Ian cast a sympathetic half-smile in our direction as he pulled the door open, the two of them leaving silently. 

I glanced over to Jamie, his face reflecting the exhaustion that was now overwhelming my senses. He wordlessly placed his hand in mine and gently pulled me towards him. I settled my head against his right shoulder, and our physical touch emanated the calm we desperately needed, our steadying heartbeats anchoring us.

**_February 1967_ **

A year after her return to the past, the grief I carried from Mama’s absence still hit me at the most unexpected times. Today was one of them.

I was two months into my second semester of my freshman year at Harvard University. Despite my current emotional conflict with my father’s ( _ well, the father who raised me _ ) legacy — a legacy that I was still processing — I had chosen his area of study and was majoring in history. I enjoyed my classes and found myself looking forward to the free hours in my days, when I could escape to the library and hide in my favorite cubicle, surrounded by books. My friends kept me grounded, remaining completely unaware of my fantastical familial background and instead bringing me along to fun mixers and late-night outings. I was also grateful to count Roger as a friend who  _ did  _ know my secret. He and I called each other every couple of weeks, updating one another on our lives and the trivial matters on our minds. 

It was why I had called him this afternoon, crying over an innocent comment my friend Lizzie had made to me about her mother being “insufferable” with her “constant” visits and “embarrassing” need to befriend all of Lizzie’s friends. What served as a halfhearted remark from my friend had been a seemingly targeted, painful reminder of what I’d lost. Roger knew how much I missed my mother, and he was always willing to listen. At the end of my long-winded rant, I heard him clear his throat, and I knew he was going to drop the same offer he sometimes added at the end of our calls.

“Brianna,” Roger started, his voice light yet unwavering. “You know what I’m about to ask ye, but there’s something else now. My father apparently kept several unopened boxes of research in his office that have your parents’ names on them.” He began talking faster, wanting to get the suggestion completely out in the open before I could cut him off. “I saw them when I visited the manse over the holidays this year, and they’re stuffed with papers. I can take a look into them if ye’d like me to. Knowing how your mother and Jamie fared might help bring some closure for you.”

I remained uncharacteristically silent, mentally digesting what he’d proposed. His past offers were meaningful but also safely vague, requiring him to perform the research on his own, making my inevitable refusal more acceptable. But now, the research had basically fallen into his lap. My parents’ lives sat in boxes in Oxford. Did I want to know? Taking a deep breath, I gripped the phone handle tightly and answered.

“I can’t.” I swallowed down the rising tide of encouragement from my heart that screamed the opposite, playing with the phone cord in between my fingers as a necessary distraction. “I can’t be chasing their ghosts. I promised Mama I wouldn’t. I envision them living a calm and happy life together. What if the information you find shows something terrible? I don’t think I could handle that.” 

“I understand,” Roger answered reassuringly, “ye ken I won’t push this on you anymore. I just wanted to let you know your options.” 

I nodded, though I knew it was pointless since he wouldn’t see it over the phone. “I know. Thank you, Roger. But I don’t want any more information about my mother, or about Jamie. My own ending for them is enough for me.”

He chuckled on the other end, in a humorous and non-insulting fashion. “With  _ your _ curious mind? Those are some famous last words, Randall.”


	7. A Barrier Crossed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie and Claire open up more to one another, and a big secret is revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Though the storyline that is previewed in the prologue flash-forward was my first idea that came to mind when I thought about writing, these next few chapters immediately followed. I wanted to write the aftermath of Jamie and Claire’s reunion from both of their perspectives and delve into what I thought these two must have been feeling after their separation. So, fair warning, these next 3 or 4 chapters will have a bit of angst and a lot of feelings. But brighter skies are coming for these two. Thank you for trusting me. <3

I held Claire closely, realizing that it was one of the rare occurrences since she returned where we were truly standing still, floating in calm waters. The irony of this moment happening on the heels of my sister unleashing years of grief and anger on us was not lost on me, but I was grateful for the peace. Her arms unraveled around me as she moved a few steps back. Leaning against the table, a disappointed look appeared on her face.

“That wasn’t exactly a happy family reunion,” Claire remarked, a rueful smile forming at the corners of her mouth.

“No, it wasna,” I agreed, positioning myself next to her, our bodies side by side. “But I canna blame her, at least not for what she said to me.”

“She’s right, though. About both of us.” As she turned to me, I caught a flash of pain in her eyes, riddled with guilt. “We’re lying to them. Jenny and Ian know us too well to believe the story we’re telling about my disappearance.” 

I hummed in agreement, unable to ignore the sudden pang in my core at her comment. We were both guilty of lying to them about Claire’s reappearance, but a week had gone by and I hadn’t told her about Laoghaire. Similar to Fergus’s approach, one of Ian’s first questions to me upon their arrival this afternoon was how Claire handled the news. When I informed them that, no, Claire did not know, and I was planning on legally ending things with Laoghaire through Ned before telling her, neither Jenny nor Ian encountered any problem letting me know _exactly_ how selfishly I was acting.

Claire’s entrance into the print shop was a much-welcomed interruption to the ongoing standoff with those two. Between Ian’s understanding yet cautionary approach (“brother, that’s not somethin’ ye’ll want to keep from her for long”) and Jenny’s more confrontational questioning (“ye’re tellin’ me she’s come back to ye after all these years, and ye didna feel the need to tell her ye were wed?! Ye mindless clot heid… _”_ ), those two exhausted me. But they were right. My marriage to Laoghaire was an emotional restraint in my conversations with Claire, because I was terrified  she would leave me immediately upon finding out. 

I knew I wasn’t strong enough to lose her again. 

Standing in the area that would be our new bedroom above Dr. Morgan’s apothecary while holding Claire in my arms, I gave myself permission to dream of the years we’d spend together. At that moment, I vowed to do anything I could to make her happy and assure her that she belonged here with me. I initially believed my unspoken oath included telling her  _ after  _ I resolved things through Ned, making sure that no loose ties remained, but my decision led only to more deception. Each day brought more definition and clarity of a future with Claire, but the lie I kept came with the burden of an increasingly heavy weight on my soul. 

I glanced over at Claire, who seemed to be lost in her own thoughts. Wanting to comfort her with my words and touch, I grasped her right hand and squeezed, a startled jolt traveling down her spine as her eyes met mine. “Jenny’s no’ wrong in that regard, but ye didna deserve those accusations she threw your way. She crossed a line by taking out her anger towards me on ye, Sassenach, and I’m sorry.”

She clasped her other hand over mine in solidarity, mirrored in her half-smile. “That’s always been Jenny, though. She casts a warm light on those she trusts, and a very cold shadow on those she doesn’t. Right now, she doesn’t trust me.”

Pushing herself off the table, Claire began pacing slowly, her wringing hands reflecting the apprehension bouncing around on her glass face. A minute passed before she swiftly halted in front of me. “Jamie, maybe we should tell them the truth.” She took a step towards me, her gentle hands landing on my forearms. “Everyone we’ve told — Murtagh, Fergus, Brianna — they’ve accepted it, even if they don’t completely understand it all.”

Although I’d decided long ago that telling Jenny and Ian the truth about Claire would only bring more anguish than closure, hearing her plainly lay out the reactions of those who  _ did  _ know nudged me slightly to a point of reconsideration. 

“I canna disagree with yer observation there,” I conceded, uncertain about expanding the circle of people who knew Claire’s history and potentially increasing the risk of putting her in danger. “‘Tis only— Jenny and Ian are different, ye ken? Murtagh was a man of the world, and Fergus was a child who believed your story to be a cautionary tale about wanderin’ off.  Ye told me even Brianna struggled to understand, and she’s a canny lass.” 

“And Jenny isn’t?” Claire responded amusedly, her eyebrows raised. “Jamie, she’s one of the smartest people I know. She’s comfortable with tales of the supernatural in a way that even  _ we _ aren’t. I think she’d probably find the truth more believable than the story we’re currently telling.”

“Aye, ye make verra fine points,” I surrendered. “I hadna thought of it that way. I still dinna ken how I feel about them knowing, but,” I shrugged and looked down, unsure how to communicate my skepticism.

“We don’t have to decide today,” Claire said, the back-and-forth movements of her hands against me providing additional reassurance. “It’s something we can think about together. Hm?”

I nodded, sighing deeply and placing my forehead against hers. We steadied our breathing once again, grasping that bit of quiet we craved. As we inched apart, Claire spotted the oak chest placed a few feet behind me. “Is this it?” she questioned, a hint of anticipation breaking through in her voice. Before I could answer, she wandered over, crouched down in front of the metal latch, and delicately opened it. 

“Oh my God, Jamie!” She was awestruck, her fingers softly tracing the fabrics peeking out on top. “I can’t believe you kept these. After all these years?” She stood and turned towards me, gripping an olive green bodice and matching skirt. “You could have sold these, made some money for you and your family.” 

Swallowing the knot quickly forming in my throat, I fought back the memory of doing everything short of threatening Jenny when she had suggested exactly what Claire recommended. “I couldna, Sassenach.” I momentarily focused on the newly-formed splinter on one of the floor panels, a bit embarrassed about the attachment I had formed to her clothing. “Those were my only memories of you, the things I could hold in my bare hands as a reminder that my life with you was real. No amount of money was worth losing them.”

Speechless, Claire glanced at the clothing in her arms, and a glimmer of tears lined the bottom of her eyes. “Seeing these for the first time in nearly twenty years brings back so many memories, Jamie.” She spoke carefully, her voice delicately balanced on a tightrope. “I understand what you mean. About wanting something as a physical reminder.” She placed the material back in the chest, her eyes locking with mine as she continued. “I wanted to keep the outfit I’d worn once I went back to the twentieth century, but Frank—”

She clammed up immediately after dropping his name and uttered a halfhearted  _ well, never mind. _ I never pushed her, but Claire avoided talking about Frank whenever she could. As someone who was carrying a damaging secret, I possessed no grounds on which to be bothered by her silence. But that did not stop me from noticing the hesitation in her facial expressions, and I wondered if she was possibly afraid of hurting my feelings. 

Clearing her throat, she grabbed her right hand and rotated the thin silver ring I’d given her on our wedding day. “I couldn’t keep my clothes,” she admitted, her voice shaking, “but I never took this off. He let me keep it, and it always gave me comfort to have a part of you with me.” She walked towards me and took my hands into hers, her thumbs gently rubbing the calluses on my knuckles. 

“Ye’ll think me mad when I tell ye this, Sassenach,” I chuckled, hoping that the laughter would successfully push down the melancholy feelings that threatened to overwhelm me. “I dreamt of ye constantly over the years. And similar to what ye told me, they’d usually never last in my mind past the morning. However,” I paused, a sudden chill rippling through my body, “once I returned to Lallybroch to serve out the rest of my sentence, my dreams of ye became so clear. I can remember so many of them.” My focus shifted from our entwined hands, and I almost lost myself in her sympathetic gaze. “I would see ye in a rocking chair, a wee bairn sleeping against yer heart. I saw ye playing on the floor with a small red-haired lass. There were moments it was only you, sitting by the window or readin’ a book on the couch. Those dreams felt  _ so real _ to me,  _ a nighean. _ I couldna understand why, but I realized Jenny placed your chest of clothes,” I nodded my head towards the rather imposing object on the floor, “in my bedroom. And it was only there that I’d have these visions of ye at night, so I convinced myself the garments had held on to parts of yer spirit.”

“I ken it’s a bit mad,” I admitted, “but I missed ye so much,  _ mo nighean donn _ . I looked for ye in everythin’ around me.”

Claire’s face crumbled as she processed what I’d confessed. Her chin quivering and mouth attempting a reassuring smile, she placed her hands on the back of my neck. “Brianna was my connection to you. When she was small enough to hold in my arms, I’d spend hours admiring her blue eyes, seeing so much of you in her.” Her admission pierced my heart as I thought of Claire raising our daughter in a time that she once walked away from. She had risked everything and chosen a life with me, and I turned her away only three short years later. I knew it was for her and Brianna’s safety, but I was also well aware that I had torn out Claire’s heart by sending her back through the stones.

“I wasn’t amidst a pile of clothes in a wooden chest,” she smirked softly, attempting to insert humor, “but I was out there, wishing that you’d come and find me.” I felt her fingers stroking the back of my neck, both her movements and words creating goosebumps in that area. “During those first months after Brianna was born, I treasured the quiet moments I shared with her. I’d talk as if you were there with us. Whether it was sharing the clever sounds or movements she’d made that day, or how much she had grown over the past week, it was my way of keeping your memory alive for me.” 

She briefly stopped, her nerves showing themselves as I felt her fingers twitch against my skin. “I’m sorry if I’ve seemed lost in my own world at times over this past week. I couldn’t be happier to be here with you, making a life that was beyond even my wildest dreams.” Her brilliant smile and shining eyes revealed the genuine feelings behind her words, but I glimpsed a hint of sadness behind her glow. “But I—I spent so much time grieving alone. For the life we left behind, and for everything we’d never experience together. I feel like I’m in a constant state of wanting to either weep with joy at having another chance with you, or to angrily curse fate for the time we were apart.” 

I grabbed her left hand from behind and kissed it lightly, my eyes never leaving hers. “Oh  _ mo chridhe _ , dinna fash. You never have to apologize to me for what ye’re feeling.” Her words had nearly shattered me. I struggled with my own joy and gratitude of having Claire back, because those emotions fought against a nearly permanent current of grief that formed the moment she disappeared. We had been deprived of  _ so much _ together. 

“I promised ye this already, Sassenach, and I meant every word. We canna get back the time we’ve lost, but from this moment forward, I will do everythin’ I can to make sure ye’ll never be alone again.”

Claire placed her hands on either side of my face and pulled me towards her lips. Though our hearts bore the scars and roughened edges that separation inflicted upon us, kissing Claire still felt like having a living flame in my hands.

_ She is baring her deepest insecurities to me, and I am keeping a bombshell from her. I need to tell her. Christ, if she leaves me, I dinna ken what I would do. But she needs to know. She has a right to make a choice this time — one that I denied her years before. _

I slowly pulled away from our kiss, drowning in the noise of my thoughts. Before I could say anything, I froze at Claire’s heartbreaking look of concern.

“What is it?” she whispered, the fear evident in her tone. “Jamie, what’s wrong?”

_ Secrets, not lies. I already broke that promise to her, but I need to make it right.  _

“Claire, I need to tell ye somethin’. I havena found the right time to talk about it wi’ ye, but—”

Suddenly, the front door swung open, and my stomach jumped into my throat as Ned Gowan strolled his way into my shop. Claire’s eyes widened, a gasp escaping her as she quickly dropped her hands from me. “ _ Ned?! _ ” 

The kindly old man’s demeanor brightened at the sound of my wife’s voice, completely overjoyed to see her after two decades. “Oh,  _ my dear _ , tis truly you! Yer husband had told me ye’d returned, and I didn’t believe him at first.” Both of them walked swiftly into their hug, arms wrapped tightly around one another. As they broke their embrace, Ned pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at his cheeks. “Ye’ll have to pardon me, dearie, I’m a trifle overcome.” 

While Claire and Ned reveled in their surprise reunion, I actively used every ounce of self control to resist the creeping panic at his appearance. I had asked Ned to look into the legal consequences of Claire’s return when it came to my marriage to Laoghaire, hoping that we could end it with as little trouble for everyone involved. I hadn’t heard from Laoghaire since I moved to Edinburgh six months ago, and it was best for us all to keep it that way. My gut churned at the realization that Ned was probably here for an update on the situation — and since he likely considered myself a better man than I actually was, he probably assumed Claire knew as well.

Before I could think up a plan to speak privately with Claire, Ned was walking alongside her towards the table I was leaning against. Opening the folder he was carrying, he pulled out several crisp sheets of paper, and the next minute of my life passed in a blur that I was powerless to fight. I only caught bits of Ned’s words (“ _ Laoghaire wants this over as much as ye do, lad”  _ and “ _ doesna want anythin’ for herself” _ ) as the emotional paralysis consumed my logical thinking. All I could focus on was Claire. Her face grew pale, and the competing reactions flitted across in various expressions. Anger, grief, devastation — and the shocking realization that I had betrayed her.  

It was his simple conclusion (“ _ the marriage is void, and we may proceed as if it never existed” _ ) that broke me from my silence.

“Ned,” I interrupted, my voice wavering. “Claire and I need to speak alone.”

A perceptive man, it only took him about ten seconds to assess the situation and discover that Claire knew nothing about any of this mess I’d created behind her back. She only had eyes for me, her glare powered by the unexpected hurt and fury. Ned whispered his goodbyes as he gathered his things and slipped out the door, Claire not moving a single inch.

The door quietly shut, and the lie was no longer a secret.

" _What the bloody hell have you done, Jamie?”_


	8. Release

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie and Claire reckon with Ned's reveal, and their conversation unearths more than either anticipated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, as always, for your support of this story. This chapter was a labor of love, especially when it comes to these two, and I hope you enjoy. <3

Tension enveloped the room like a thick blanket, the aftershock of betrayal conquering the senses to the point of suffocation. Claire felt both numb and fragile, her mind assuming a defensive crouch and refusing to believe what Ned revealed, while knowing that a single glance or word from Jamie would break her into pieces. 

_ Jamie was married. To Laoghaire.  And he lied to me about it.  _  


“What the bloody hell have you done, Jamie?”  


The question exploded from within, her voice working faster than her brain could think. She witnessed the beginnings of an explanation form on Jamie’s lips, but all she heard was her mind screaming at her to  _ get out.  _ She needed to breathe. Her focus now single-handedly on the door, she strode towards the exit, desperately seeking cooler air and an escape from this new reality.  


Trapped in his own well of guilt and helplessness, Jamie’s instincts alerted him to Claire’s imminent departure, and he realized his greatest fear was playing out in front of him. With a targeted focus of his own, he lunged for Claire and grabbed her right arm. “Claire? Claire, where are ye goin’?”  


“Away,” she shakily uttered as she halfheartedly attempted to free herself from Jamie’s grasp, “I need to leave.”  


“No,  _ please _ , let me explain—”  


“ _ Laoghaire _ ?!”   


Claire flung her arm out of Jamie’s hand, pivoting sharply and fixing her stare on him. Jamie knew Claire was furious, but no amount of preparation would have adequately prepared him for the crushing mix of hurt and anger that played out across her face, framed by her wayward curls.     


“You married Laoghaire? She—” Claire’s shallow breathing was a physical warning of her rapid approach towards the emotional precipice, and she stemmed the rising tide of fury in her throat.  “She tried to have me killed!”  


Jamie’s eyes widened as he absorbed what she disclosed. “Claire, what are ye talkin’ about?”  


“Do you remember the trial at Cranesmuir? Laoghaire tricked me into visiting Geillis that afternoon, and we were arrested together.” Arms crossed tightly against her, Claire paced away from the door, providing a miniscule but necessary lift to Jamie’s nerves. “Laoghaire testified against me, and the little harlot couldn’t  _ wait _ to tell everyone how  _ I was a witch _ and how excited she was to  _ dance on my ashes _ .”  


Jamie’s blood turned cold at Claire’s reveal, the force of Laoghaire’s threats merely intensifying the waves of guilt rippling through him. “ _ Ah Dhia _ , she did that? I didna ken that, ye have to believe me, Sassena—”  


“Don’t you  _ dare _ call me that.”   


Battling his own emotions, Jamie breathed as deeply as his strained lungs would allow him. “ _ Claire,  _ I swear, I never would ha’ married her knowing she did this to you. Why did ye no’ tell me?”  


“It doesn’t matter anyway. From the moment you and I were married, she hated me. She wanted me gone so she could have you to herself.” He caught a faint glaze forming over Claire’s seething expression, and he knew that she had disappeared — if only for a second — into her vault of memories.  


Claire was powerless to ward off her haunting past with Laoghaire.  _ The furious glare Laoghaire cast their way when Jamie guided Claire back to her surgery during one of those first nights at Castle Leoch. The twinge of jealousy in Claire’s belly that she refused to recognize upon discovering Jamie kissing Laoghaire in the hallway. The gleeful, twisted smile Laoghaire cast Claire’s way as the final judgment condemned her to death at Cranesmuir.  _  


_ And the ill wish cast under their bed — the seemingly innocent bouquet of twigs and herbs that foreshadowed the years of war, loss, and grief ahead of them. _  


“Laoghaire was a widow with two bairns when I wed her.” Jamie’s voice bringing her back to the surface of reality, Claire swallowed the urge to interrupt. Noting her silence, Jamie hesitantly continued. “They live in Balriggan. I only lived with Laoghaire and the girls for six months before moving to Edinburgh.”  


”So you abandoned them then,” Claire fired, her accusation sparking a flame of rage that radiated through Jamie’s shaking hands and increasing heart rate.   


“Claire, will ye no’ let me explain—”  


“That’s what you should have done in the first place,” she interrupted, her right foot propelling her off the wooden column as she began her slow approach. “You hid this from me, and I had to hear from Ned Gowan that  _ my husband _ married and fucked a woman who did everything in her power to have me burned at the stake.”  


“I didn’t know about her involvement at Cranesmuir, and ye canna hold that against me,” he sharply responded, the frustration seeping out in each syllable. “I was working wi’ Ned to end this from the moment you returned. Laoghaire and I havena lived together for a while now, and our lives are completely separate.”   


_ Laoghaire and I. _ A simple phrase that punched Claire squarely in the gut. From the moment she discovered Jamie was alive, one of the many floating questions had taken root in the back of her mind, growing louder as her plans to return to Jamie became more concrete: _ What if he fell in love with someone else? _   


“You told me everything that first night we were back together,” she started, her arms no longer crossed ( _ which Claire instantly regretted, the absence of her physical barrier leaving her emotionally unarmed _ ). Claire and Jamie were now facing one another, their bodies leaned against the parallel oak tables, ten feet separating them. “I know we’re still getting used to one another, but this is the biggest secret you’ve kept from me. Why couldn’t you tell me this?”  


The silence that Jamie needed to contemplate his answer roared like an illicit confession in Claire’s ears, and after waiting for what felt like hours, the deafening anxiety pushed her over. “ _ Why _ ?”   


With no time to process, and livid, tear-filled whisky orbs glaring at him, Jamie gave her what she wanted: honesty — overdue, likely futile, but complete. “ _ Why?  _ Because I’m a coward, Claire. When you walked into the print shop a week ago, my entire world stopped. Nothing else mattered but you. I wanted — and  _ want _ — ye so badly, there was nothing I wouldn’t do to make sure ye knew ye belonged here with me.”  


“I know that hiding this from ye was wrong. But if someone ha’ told me that one day I’d have you back in my arms and in my bed, and we’d be doing somethin’ so  _ normal _ together, like buyin’ trinkets for the rooms in our new home, I’d tell them they were mad.” His arms twitched with need to touch and comfort Claire, but he cautiously noted the way her hands gripped the table, a weariness emanating from her muscles. Instead, he stepped toward her, his hands lingering against his sides. “I was scared to tell ye, Claire, because I was terrified that you would turn around and leave without a word. And I  _ cannot _ lose ye again.”   


“So when  _ exactly _ were you planning on telling me about Laoghaire?” Claire asked, her tone imploring Jamie to maintain the honesty he was offering her. “After I’d started working? Would you have simply bided your time until she showed up one day, discovering that your witch of a first wife returned? We  _ just _ found a new place to live, Jamie. We’re moving in days!”  


“I wanted te resolve it with Ned before telling ye.”  _ One step closer _ , Jamie pondered, as his left foot shifted forward. “Laoghaire and I both knew early on that the marriage was a grave mistake, and it was only a matter of time once I left before we’d officially end it.”  


“She won in the end, though.” Claire shifted against the table, her arms returning to their crossed position. “I was gone, and she claimed you.”  


“Ye ken I would have given anythin’ to bring you back to me.” Her eyes made their way back to Jamie’s, her knees almost buckling under the intense vulnerability swirling in his pools of sapphires. “I spent years wrestlin’ with my own grief over losin’ ye. During my years at Lallybroch, everyone around me was movin’ forward with their own lives, makin’ plans and entertainin’ their dreams, but I always kept one foot planted in the time I spent with you. And I couldna let go, because I needed the constant reminder that what we shared was real.”  


The exhaustion nipped at Jamie as years of emotions flowed out of him, many seeing the light of day for the first time. Running his left hand through his fiery red curls, the ringlets having loosened with age, he inched closer, desperate for Claire’s touch. 

"Laoghaire was a safe option to me. Tis my fault alone for willingly agreeing to marry her, but it was almost a comfort realizing I’d never fall in love with her.”    


Claire shifted her weight off the table, moving a step closer to Jamie.   


“She was harmless when I first met her, a girl with a crush on the handsome young Highlander.  It wasn’t until we were married that she turned on me, making me feel like an outsider who never deserved you. If you had been honest with me about her, Jamie, we could have talked about this together. Instead, you hid it entirely from me.” Claire understood that Jamie explained only seconds ago that his marriage to Laoghaire lacked any romantic love, but her long-standing walls had reemerged. “You told me that you never fell in love with anyone else.”  


“It’s because I  _ didn’t _ . Claire, I told ye I sought comfort elsewhere. And aye, I struggled with how I would tell ye about this. But I never stopped loving ye, and that truth was the only thing that made me feel human most days. And ‘tis why I was scared to tell ye about Laoghaire when ye came back to me.”  


Despite the anger that nearly blinded her, a sense of recognition — of  _ being seen  _ — broke through the formidable light. Her all-consuming love for Jamie, renewed and multiplied through Brianna, kept her spirit going long after they’d parted. A love she fiercely protected. Claire couldn’t shake the threatening chill from this revelation in Jamie’s past, but she tread carefully, her own temperature naturally falling to a simmer.   


“You knew, deep down, that this would feel like a betrayal. That I would question your feelings for me in light of knowing this. How am I supposed to know you aren’t lying to me now?”  


“ _ What else can I say to ye, Claire? _ ” The sense of being emotionally stripped raw had depleted Jamie. Despite his awareness that he wasn’t necessarily in the most understanding state of mind, Claire’s objectively fair question provoked him. “I’ve told ye how sorry I am, how much I love ye, how I would give up honor, my family, and even life itself to be with you again.” Pacing back and forth, Jamie tapped his fingers against his thighs as he scrambled to verbalize the feelings he’d hardly acknowledged. “But,  _ Christ _ , words cannot show you how much I missed you. How the loss of you was so deep in my bones that it hurt to breathe most days. How I selfishly resented my sister and her family — people who loved me through my darkest years — simply because I couldn’t stop thinking about how that was supposed to be you and me.” Jamie had stilled, his eyes never leaving hers. “Ye’ve always been my heart, Claire. I ken I’ve given ye reason to doubt, but it has been and will always be you.”  


Though Claire’s education informed her that the phenomenon was impossible absent extreme physical trauma, she would have sworn on the grave of Hippocrates himself that her heart had split open at Jamie’s admissions. Immersing herself in Jamie’s words, she found herself wanting to wring his neck from exasperation, drag him into her arms and weep over their shared grief, and grab his face and kiss him thoroughly — the dominant want of the three changing with each second. Instead, she squeezed her tear-filled eyes briefly for a moment of respite before responding.  


“You broke a promise that you made to me on our wedding day: that there was room in our marriage for secrets, but not lies. Was she worth it?”  


Jamie released a defeated sigh. “It wasna because of Laoghaire herself, it was my fear that I would lose ye. That a choice I made at the lowest point of my life would take ye away from me once again.”   


“So you’re not sorry for lying to me,” Claire concluded with an air of defiance, masking her hope that Jamie would assure her otherwise.  


“I’m sorry for lyin’, but not for  _ why _ I did, because I’d do far worse than lie to keep you.” He shortened the distance between them, motivated by a need to prove his devotion to her and an underlying terror that his efforts wouldn’t be enough. “And that should prove to you how much I love and need ye. Willing to turn my back on everything I hold dear for you, even though ye left me.”

Jamie regretted it the instant he said it. He had sensed the emotional control slipping out of his grasp, and he ignored it to his peril. Claire’s face briefly crumbled, but indignation steadily burned in her eyes as she carefully approached him.   


“ _ Left you?”  _ she whispered, disbelief laced in her tone as her feet automatically guided her towards Jamie. “Left  _ you _ ? You  _ forced me _ to go back. I would have died gladly at Culloden with you. We could have made a life here together had we survived, and  _ you  _ took that away from me.”  


“It wasna just me, Claire. You made me a promise. I did it to protect you both, and you know that.”  


“No, you  _ demanded  _ when we were in Paris that I make you that promise.”  


“And did ye think I wanted to make ye promise?” Claire was now less than a foot away from Jamie, and he wanted nothing more than to grip her arms and erase that gap of space. “Do ye think I enjoyed tearing my soul into pieces by sending you and our daughter away? That day at Craigh Na Dun haunted me every day while we were apart, and still does.”  


“I understand, more than you know, but you  _ cannot  _ make yourself the lone martyr here. We both suffered from that decision. It wasn’t your fault, but don’t you dare say that I left you.” Outrage vibrated through her body as she continued her defense, refusing to let Jamie discount the agony of her time apart from him, even if done unknowingly. “I wanted to try and fight history down to the end, but we knew we couldn’t do it. And you  _ especially _ cannot use that poor excuse to wave away my anger at you.”  


“It’s not an excuse, ‘tis what fate dealt us. You and I were forced to keep living, knowing that we’d never see each other again. And that involved us making certain choices and trying to move forward.”  


“And for you, that included marrying Laoghaire.” Suddenly, a possibility she’d rarely considered flooded her mind with worry.  “Jamie, do you regret me coming back?”  


 “No! Claire, no, never. Tis only—”   


“It’s only what?”  


Jamie exhaled shakily, his hands balling into and out of fists. “Do ye ken what it feels like to live without a heart? To live as half a man, and exist in the bit that’s left?”  


“Do I  _ know _ ?” she called back, exasperation warring with a familiar heartache brought on by the exact feelings he’d described to her. “Do  _ I  _ know how that feels? Yes, you bastard,  _ I know _ . Do you really think I went back to Frank and we lived happily ever after?”

"Sometimes, I hoped you did,” he sharply whispered, his sturdy build mere inches from Claire’s, their eyes fastened. “Then some nights I’d see it so clearly:  _ him and you, day and night, lyin wi’ ye, takin’ your body and holding my bairn _ , and the visions drove me to near madness.”  


“Well I don’t have to imagine Laoghaire, as I’ve bloody  _ seen _ her before.  I was the only one who knew your body, who shared that deepest level of intimacy with you. And now that  _ wretched _ woman can claim what used to be only mine.”  


“And did ye live as a nun during our time apart, Claire?”  


The bitterness in his question knocked the wind out of her, shock overwhelming her as she defensively stepped back. “What is  _ that _ supposed to mean?”   


“I ken ye dinna like talkin’ about it with me, but I sent ye back to a man who loved ye, and who  _ you _ loved as well. And you shy away  _ every time  _ one of us brings his name up.” The years of jealousy Jamie fought to ignore could no longer be contained, leaking through the cracks of his fragile state.  


“This isn’t about Frank.”  


“Oh, I think he belongs in this conversation now if we’re talkin’ about who we shared our beds with while we were apart.”  


Claire’s mouth fell open, a gasp of incredulity escaping her. “Jamie, this is  _ completely  _ different. You  _ knew _ I was married to Frank when you sent me back to him.”  


“Aye, and ye didna return to me until years after he died.”  


“I came back to you after I found out  _ you _ were still alive.”   


“Ye asked me the first night ye were back if I fell in love with anyone else.” Jamie silently prayed that Claire wouldn’t see the fear that gripped him. He wanted no external circumstances influencing her answer. “I need to know — did ye fall in love w’ him when ye went back?”  


“ _ No _ ,” she answered, her urgency recognizing and attempting to remove the uncertainty behind Jamie’s question. “I cared for Frank very much, and I loved him, but that was  _ before _ you.”  


“After I sent you back through the stones, you were with him for years. Ye told me ye were happy with him.”  


“ _ Don’t _ twist my words. I said I was happy  _ raising Brianna _ with him.”  


“And yet ye shared his bed,” he countered.

Claire wanted to scream. She couldn’t blame Jamie for failing to understand a part of her life he knew nothing about, but the emotional whirlwind that plagued her years with Frank churned in the pit of her stomach. “Yes. I did. But I don’t understand why we’re talking about him when  _ you  _ were the one who lied to me.”  


“Because the man took  _ everything _ from me, Claire.”  


Jamie’s face dropped all pretenses, the pent-up resentment finally unloaded. Claire felt a pang in her chest as a watery shimmer appeared in his eyes; he looked upward, blinking twice, before gazing at her once more.  


“He lived the rest of his days with you as his wife. He raised our daughter as  _ her father _ , watching her grow up and teaching her the ways of the world. And he did it all with you. Things that I had to give up when I said goodbye to ye at the stones.”  


“Jamie—”  


“I knew who Frank was, aye. You made him known to me long before I sent ye back, and I’m grateful that he cared for you and Brianna. But that doesna erase the anger I feel knowing that  _ he _ got the life with you that I wanted for us from the moment we met.”  


“I wanted that life with you too.” Not for the first time that evening, Claire resisted her elemental need to touch him, instead slowly entwining her arms once more.“I would have given anything to bring Brianna with me through the stones and find you miraculously alive and well at Lallybroch. But you know I couldn’t risk that. I had to think of our daughter.”  


“I dinna regret sending ye back for your safety, and it gave me peace to know that you two were together. But you had our daughter, and a man that loved ye, and you still struggled with loneliness. I was on my own for so long.”  


“So was I,” she responded, a burst of tenderness further tempering her radiating anger. Jamie’s deception had triggered an insecurity that Claire could never lose during their time apart, but she understood him in a way that nobody else could. “I didn’t want to go back, Jamie. When Frank came to the hospital and discovered me, I was broken and drowning in grief. I didn’t even want to  _ live _ without you, but then I would feel guilty for even thinking that way, knowing I was carrying our child.”   


Her life with Frank hid under layers that Claire had planned on living the rest of her life without acknowledging. Yet as she studied Jamie’s expression — a pained, helpless look of sympathy that mirrored her own feelings towards him — she knew a life with him meant a return to that place of vulnerability she’d walled off the minute her hands touched 1940s soil. Pins and needles coursed through her bloodstream and her cheeks flushed, using every bit of control to keep her focus on Jamie and not completely fall apart.  


“Frank was a good father to Brianna. He loved her very much.” Bit by bit, the veneer began to fall, a slight tremble emerging in her voice. “And yes, I tried to make the marriage work for our family’s sake. But I couldn’t let him be a true husband to me anymore, and he made me live with that decision for the rest of his life.  He made me swear to keep you a secret from our daughter. I couldn’t look for you or speak about you to anyone, and he did everything he could to bury the part of me that was yours. And when he realized that nothing he did could ever change the fact that my heart belongs to you, he made sure I knew I let both him and Brianna down.”

The pure sorrow in Claire’s tone, reflected in her teary eyes, nearly brought Jamie to his knees. She had shattered the illusions of her life that cruelly mocked him at his loneliest hours. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and whisper the Gaelic promises that always calmed her soul. He yearned for the perfect reassurances to combat the doubts  _ that bastard Frank Randall  _ planted in her. But mostly, he hated himself for the damage that his selfish decision inflicted on her wounded heart.  


“Claire, I’m so sorry.”  


“And in case you still wanted to keep track,” she added, despondence etched in her expression, “I slept  _ alone  _ for most of my marriage, and for the entire time after Frank died.”  


Her confession lingering between them, and no longer able to withstand Jamie’s desolation, Claire turned her back to him and made her way toward the exit. As soon as the sound of the floorboard creaking under the weight of Jamie’s step reached her ears, Claire whirled around, her composure on a knife’s edge.  


“Please don’t follow me,” she choked out. “I need to be alone.” She questioned whether she really meant any of her final words as she opened the door to a refreshing yet chilling influx of air. The bell rang in greeting throughout the shop as the door shut, echoing amidst the heavy silence from their emotional reckoning.  


For the first time in eighteen years, Jamie Fraser was utterly terrified.  


\----------  


The boisterous lobby of the House of Joy at dinnertime left Claire unfazed as she silently proceeded toward and up the stairs, down the hallway, and into their room. The mental and physical fatigue from her fight with Jamie had evaded her until her eyes landed on the lush and inviting bed. Exhaustion seeping into her bones, Claire’s defenses began to crater as she plopped on the couch, her fingers pressing against the throbbing bases of her temple. Jamie merely cracked the surface of emotions she’d suppressed for years, and it was only a matter of time before she’d eventually surrender to the oncoming rush.

_ No, Beauchamp, you’ve got this. Deep breaths. Sleep it off. It’s worked for nearly twenty years. You’ll feel better in the morning.  _  


Losing track of time, she peered at the bed once again, her heart sinking at the likelihood that she’d be sleeping alone tonight. She rose and slowly peeled off the constricting layers of her clothing — stomacher, bodice, skirts, petticoat, bum roll, stockings, corset — and powered through her first expansive breath of the night, shuddering as she exhaled. She strolled over to the washstand and dipped a white terry cloth towel into the basin, pressing the cooled material against her tingling skin.   


Claire was so engrossed in her worn-down appearance staring back at her in the mirror that she barely registered the door creaking open. Deciding to ignore both the familiar footsteps and the accompanying relief blooming in her chest, she purposefully looked down as she made her way towards the bed.   


Jamie knew it was a risk, but his mind was beyond the point of need. He delicately grabbed Claire’s left hand as she made her way past him, his heart rate already quieting upon contact.   


“ _ Sassenach _ , I’m so sorry that I hurt ye.”  


Before she could process his apology, she wrangled her hand from his and shoved him with all her might. Words no longer came easily to her tonight, but her emotions angrily brewed in her veins. Jamie was so taken aback that it wasn’t until Claire shoved him a second time that he grabbed her wrists, carefully walking her to the closest wall and only using enough force to steady her against it, leaving her the option to break away if she desired.  


“Leave me alone,  _ please _ ,” Claire argued through gritted teeth, her face turned away from Jamie’s as her body writhed against his.  


“Ye’re holding back from me.” The calm in his voice sharply contrasted the verbal challenge he issued her, as well as his unbreakable stare. “I ken ye’re angry wi’ me. But we canna do this. No more hiding.”  


The tears returned to Claire as she met his pleading eyes, her quivering chin rendering Jamie defenseless. “I left  _ everything _ to come back to you, Jamie. I trusted you more than anyone else in my life.”  


“I know. I broke your trust, ye’re right to be furious. You may not want me around, but I  _ will not _ leave you alone like this.”   


“Why did you do it?”  


“I told ye,  _ a nighean _ .” His entire body was so weak, and he realized he wouldn’t be able to hold her much longer. “I was lonely, and needed a chance—”  


“ _ That’s not what I mean _ .”  


Claire’s guttural outburst shook through her frame, and Jamie’s heart snapped as tears spilled down her reddened cheeks.   


“Why did you send me back?” She knew the answer. The fault belonged to neither of them, but to the realities of time that forced their collective hand. Nevertheless, decades of buried grief left little room for logic and reason. “Bad things always happen to us when we’re apart. If I hadn’t gone back, you wouldn’t have married Laoghaire, I wouldn’t have gone back to Frank, and we could’ve been happy.”  


Removing his hands from her wrists, he affectionately placed them on each side of her face. “Ye dinna ken that, Sassenach.”   


“I do.” She nodded, her eyes squeezed tightly as she attempted to catch her breath. “All I needed was you by my side. We lost so much time. It isn’t fair, Jamie. None of it’s  _ fair _ .”    


Suddenly, Claire collapsed against Jamie as sobs wracked her body. Cleansing, healing, and long-awaited tears poured onto his shoulder. Clad only in her shift, she gripped the fabric near his chest and pressed herself fully against him. When she begged him to not let her go, Jamie could only muster a “ _ never, mo chridhe _ ,” as he scooped her up and carried her towards their bed. Sitting on the edge, he swung his legs onto the covers while keeping Claire tightly against him. Though tears were also forming in his eyes, he kept them at bay, stroking her hair and back with worn hands.   


He softly kissed the top of Claire’s head and listened to her sobs diminish from full-blown, to teary hyperventilation, to phlegmy hiccups, to an even, quiet snore. Adjusting their bodies to a more comfortable position, Jamie held her closely as his breathing eventually matched hers.   


Their two weary souls laid bare, and a battlefield of unresolved emotions would await them come morning. But for now, as a sleep-laden Claire reached for Jamie’s arm and wrapped it around her in the encompassing darkness, this was enough.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can always find me at @lcbeauchampoftarth on Tumblr, or @lcbeauchampoft1 on Twitter. Thank you again. <3


	9. Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie and Claire piece together the lives they lived while apart, and a choice is offered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your support. I had so many comments filled with thoughts from the past chapter. I know we all carry our own perspectives about the characters in this story, and it often leads to great discussions. I enjoy hearing from you all, and as long as you're respectful, you can be as opinionated in any way as you'd like. 
> 
> This chapter is one I've wanted to write for a long time, because I've always believed Jamie and Claire needed this time desperately. A note: this is canon-divergent, and our two characters in TTTC operate only on what we saw between Claire and Frank in the show, and Laoghaire and Jamie in the book (I would go with show in this scenario, too - but, well, I think we can all agree it wasn't the best). 
> 
> These two were broken by their time apart. In different ways that are hard to compare, yes, but they were. And piecing those emotions together can involve a lot of other emotions as well - and my hope is to give these two the space and time needed to let them be open.
> 
> These next 20+ chapters take our Jamie and Claire over two years, and these conversations were key to them moving forward in my world. The story is just beginning. :)
> 
> I hope this provides helpful context, and I truly appreciate you all so much for reading. <3

An abrupt jolt pulled Claire from her fitful slumber. Drops of sweat clung to her forehead and chest, her emotional state enhancing the physical effects of sleeping beside a human furnace. Her sinuses were on the verge of bursting from the pressure that eighteen years of tears had unleashed on her body. Her muscles throbbed from the defensive stances she’d assumed the night before.

In every way possible, Claire was completely spent. 

Jamie had not fallen asleep yet; therefore, his mind was immediately alerted to the sudden shifts in Claire’s breathing and movements. As she turned towards him, his heart fell at the tear-stained lines that marked Claire’s cheeks, temporary yet healing scars from her painful release. Placing his hand against her left jaw, his thumb slowly caressed her puffy skin. 

“Hello, Sassenach,” Jamie whispered, internally berating his choice of a trivial greeting. 

Claire actively fought the ball of wool wedged snugly in her throat to respond, but nonetheless collapsed into a flood of dry coughs. Her tired lungs echoed in the darkness as she raised herself up and fell against the headboard, her body protesting the onset of movement. In a flash, Jamie hopped out of bed and returned with a glass of water. As her vision adjusted to the predawn atmosphere in their room, Jamie’s slight breathlessness and his upturn at the right corner of his mouth nearly prompted a smile of her own. Grateful for his quick actions, she took the glass and carefully drank it down. He hesitantly rubbed her back as she turned to place the object onto her nightstand. Adjusting to an upright position, Claire took a deep, uninhibited breath and met his concerned gaze.

“Thank you."

Her soft eyes began to untangle the bundle of nerves constricting his thoughts, and a hint of a smile emerged while his hand traveled a well-worn path between her shoulders.

“Are ye alright, Claire?”

A rueful half-laugh erupted from her, her eyes quickly shifting down to her wringing hands and  returning to his worried look. “I’ve been better.”

Jamie nodded awkwardly and removed his hand from behind her, buying additional time to contemplate his next move. Before he could say anything, Claire decided to break the silence.

“I don’t exactly know what came over me.” She paused, her glass face processing a word at a time. “But I’m sorry for completely unloading on you when you returned last night. I don’t think I’ve cried that much in years.” 

His chest squeezing at her unguarded admission, Jamie tested the waters and delicately clasped Claire’s right hand with his. Noting the absence of any negative reaction, he placed their entwined hands in his lap.

“Ye dinna need to apologize, Sassenach. We said all kinds of things to one another, and we talked about feelings that burdened us for a long time. Tis normal to be upset.”

Claire’s head bobbed once in acknowledgement. “It’s so much to take in, especially all at once. Add in the fact that you and I were apart for so long, it can be overwhelming to think of all we’ve missed.” Her throat tight from emotion, she cleared it before continuing. “And tonight showed we both need to learn to trust one another again.”

A thin veil of newly-formed tears accentuated her whisky color. Though Claire made the additional effort at that moment to gently press his hand, Jamie knew she was deeply hurt.

“Claire.” Jamie shifted his positioning to face her directly, his eyes boring kindly but firmly into hers. “I’m so sorry I kept my marriage to Laoghaire from ye. I dinna ken what else I can tell ye to express my regret, but ye have every right to be upset wi’ me.”

“I’m still angry that it was  _ her _ , of all women,” she admitted. The stinging rage pummeling through Claire had significantly lessened in both temperature and intensity over the night, evolving into a temperate yet powerful heartache. “But Jamie, to realize you thought you couldn’t be honest with me about this —  _ that _ was the real betrayal to me. I know we believed we’d never see each other again, and we’re both figuring out how to catch each other up on our lives.” Claire blinked back the encroaching tears, the vulnerability in her words shaking her composure. “I just wish you had told me about this from the beginning.”

“I should ha’ told ye before.” Searching her face for some clue to her feelings, he resisted the shameful urge to look down. “I was afraid to say anythin’ out of fear ye’d turn around and leave wi’out sayin’ a word.”

“I would have been _furious_ , but then I would have known your entire history while we were apart. I remember that first night, there was a little over a year in your past that was unaccounted for in my mind.” Her back growing stiff against the headboard, she repositioned herself towards Jamie, her right shoulder pressed against the engraved wood.

“Will you tell me more about her?” Eyes reflecting the curiosity and anxiety that motivated her to ask, Claire rolled her tense shoulders back as she straightened her posture and locked her stare onto him. “When did she come back into your life?”

“Would you truly like to hear? I dinna want to hurt yer feelings even mo—”

“I haven’t  _ stopped _ feeling hurt, Jamie,” she interrupted, her voice heavy yet lacking the edge it had possessed throughout the night. “I  _ want _ to know. This shouldn’t be a secret between us.” 

_ Help me understand why you kept this from me _ , she silently pleaded.

Taking advantage of the natural lull to gather his thoughts, Jamie shifted his body to mirror Claire’s. After a long beat, he started on the path that his stream of consciousness forged for him.

“Ye ken I served out the remainder of my sentence at Lallybroch?” He waited for Claire’s steady nod before moving forward. “I’d been away for so long before then — hiding in the cave, imprisoned at Ardsmuir — when I came back, everything was different. I saw Jenny and Ian’s bairns grow, and I ken I told ye how lonely that was. I was always surrounded by life, but I felt like a ghost, drifting through each day without much notice.” He exhaled shakily, his fathomless blues dimmed from the grief that ransacked his memories of those years.

“I missed being needed by someone.” 

His admission struck Claire, her mind rapidly flipping through the countless times she had tried to bargain with God to bring Jamie to her and Brianna. How many days had she spent quietly begging, craving Jamie’s words or touch? 

“Did Laoghaire fill that need?” she asked carefully, keeping her tone as neutral as possible. 

“I thought serving her and her daughters would help, aye. Jenny had been trying for years to have me marry again, and I fought her off constantly. But as time went by, the loneliness became unbearable.” Jamie ran the fingers of his free hand through his curls, and Claire noticed a faraway look gathering in his eyes. 

“It was Hogmanay the year before last,” he started, recounting the setting that was only visible to him. “Jenny had beautifully decorated the house with candles and mistletoe, and every room was packed with people celebrating with food and drink. It was a happy time of year, but I always felt the spirits of my parents and Willie — and you.” He smiled sadly at Claire before clearing his throat in a fruitless attempt to displace the psychological weight thrust squarely on his chest. “That night, I met two lasses who happened to be Marsali and Joanie. They insisted on bringing me out to the dance floor, and we spent hours laughing and dancing together.” 

Breaking from the haze of memory, Jamie’s focus returned to Claire’s surprisingly unreadable face. “I hadna felt that carefree and light since the last time I was wi’ ye. And I was so relieved I could still feel some type of happiness.” 

Claire squeezed Jamie’s hand in understanding, casting a sympathetic half-smile towards him. She remembered experiencing that same relief every time she looked at Brianna, or held a scalpel in the operating room, or laughed at one of Joe’s terrible jokes while sneaking in an eyeroll with Gail. Fragments of time that reminded Claire of her humanity. Moments she clung to when the waves of grief threatened to drown her. 

“I couldna believe my ears when the girls told me they were Laoghaire’s daughters,” Jamie continued. “They brought me to her, and she and I started talking. I found out she’d been widowed twice, and her daughters and I got along well.” The right corner of Jamie’s lip suddenly inched up sheepishly as his gaze tilted downwards. “Jenny knew I missed feeling useful — as though I had a purpose when it came to people. As Laoghaire and I talked that evening, I saw a possibility to step in and help her and her lasses. I wasna naive enough to believe that they’d fill the holes in my heart, but I thought I could be the husband and father I’d wanted to be with you and our bairns.”

_ Our bairns.  _ One of the many dreams they had parted with at the stones.

“And were you?” she asked quietly, inching closer to him.

Claire immediately sensed the guilt flooding Jamie’s body as he shook his head. “I tried my best with her and the girls. I grew fond of Marsali and Joanie, getting to know them as the people they were becoming in the world. It wasna always easy with them, but when they looked to me for help or as someone they could speak to, it was nice.” 

Tapping his fingers against Claire’s hand, he swallowed back the hoarseness growing in his throat. “Wi’ Laoghaire, it was a matter of disappointment between two people who refused to let go of what they’d lost.” Rubbing his hand tiredly between his brows, his eyes briefly shut before returning to Claire. “I tried to be kind, to be gentle wi’ her. But she realized soon after we wed that my heart would never truly be hers. The fault lies entirely with me for the pain I caused her, because I kent I’d never love her the way she wanted.”

Claire was grateful for the dark hues that encompassed their bedroom, masking the ruddy flush in her cheeks. She was well aware that this conversation would extend beyond tonight, as they were only beginning to peel back the decades of life they’d missed; but she momentarily relished in the relief of Jamie’s words. The bare honesty in his voice provided a balm that Claire never knew she wanted — a selfish but necessary reassurance that Jamie’s heart had always belonged to her.

“I tried for months,” Jamie insisted, “but there were demons from her first two marriages that we could never move past. She always showed fear in her eyes any time I came near her. It hadna even been six months since we wed, but we both agreed that it would be best if I left.” Lightly squeezing Claire’s hand, his face grew solemn. “Tis another fault of mine that I’ll have to reckon with God when my time comes. I joined that family seeking something I knew I’d only feel with you. And aye,” he nodded, his eyes not leaving Claire’s, “I should have told ye this. And I’m sorry I didn’t.”

Strengthened by their shared vulnerability, Claire reached up and brushed the hair from his forehead, her fingers gracefully tracing the worn lines down his cheek before resting her palm fully against his stubble. “I’ll never understand what you saw in that woman,” she confessed, affection softening her disappointment, “but I can relate to how painful that kind of loneliness can be.” 

Jamie had leaned into her caress, his eyes narrowing in surrender to the emotional exhaustion seeping into his bones. But Claire’s final statement nudged his conscience, his sapphire blues widening and studying the way the faint wrinkles around her own eyes had loosened; how her chin slightly quivered as her mouth formed a thin line. Motivated into action, Jamie rose from the bed and walked around the footboard, his vision tracking Claire’s confusion as he perched on her side of the mattress. A bit stunned at Jamie’s hurried movements, Claire shifted her back against the headboard, their bodies now a foot apart. 

“What is it?” she asked, dread creeping into her chest. “Is there something else?”

Shaking his head to calm her, he forced a half-smile and reached for both of her hands. Rubbing his thumbs over the calluses in her skin, his eyes followed the motions before connecting with hers.

“I shouldna have brought up Frank the way I did last night.” Immediately sensing a flicker of tension in Claire’s grip, he squeezed apologetically. “I was angry. It was unfair of me to do so, especially since I knowingly sent ye back to him.” 

Her fight with Jamie had blown the Pandora’s Box of Frank Randall wide open, leaving the two of them with the essential task of sorting through the pieces of her years with him. Though Claire no longer felt restrained by hesitation, she still battled the intense guilt that plagued her memories of Frank. Nevertheless, as she observed Jamie’s remorseful gaze, she knew it was time to begin her own reconstruction.

“I understand, Jamie,” she answered truthfully. “We both said things we didn’t mean last night and wish we could take back. My own uncertainty to talk about him likely didn’t help matters either.”

“I had no—” Jamie paused, tears forming on his bottom eyelids. “I had no idea. I ken ye didna want to leave, and that I was tearin’ yer heart out by sending ye back. But hearin’ ye last night . . . it tore my guts out.” 

Overwhelmed by his heart-wrenching revelation, Claire moved to the edge of the bed, her right shoulder now touching Jamie’s left, legs loosely crossed. Seeking her touch again, Jamie returned to the familiar patterns he had pursued across her back. 

“It’s always been difficult for me to explain,” she uttered in a near-whisper, her focus straight ahead. “From the moment I returned to Frank, life was — well, it was  _ complicated. _ But what can you expect when you return to a life that no longer fits you?” Exhaling a long-held sigh, her worn eyes met Jamie’s. 

“Frank still loved me, and he poured his heart and soul into raising Brianna. But he and I were never the same once I returned. My pregnancy was difficult on its own, and we never found solid footing. Things were alright after Brianna was born, with both of us focused solely on caring for her. But as she grew, it became more difficult for us to keep up the act.”  

“We tried to be intimate,” she continued, an uncharacteristic shyness flickering Claire’s eyes downwards. “There were moments between us where I’d catch a glimpse of the love we had for one another. But during the few times we had sex,  I—” Jamie observed the gradual blush return to her cheeks as a sensual chill traveled down her spine. “I always thought of you. I made love to your memory, and Frank caught on rather quickly.”

Heat pooled in his cheeks, his devastation at Claire’s revelations wrestling with the bestial need to fling her back against the bed and make heart-racing, bone-deep love to her. Scooting closer, he wrapped his arm behind her shoulders, and Claire rested her head against him.

“We stopped pretending to fit the mold of our previous life together. I offered to divorce him, but he wouldn’t risk losing Brianna. So, we both threw ourselves into other passions. I immersed myself into medical school and residency. Being a surgeon gave me the chance to be part of something greater than myself — a feeling I’d experienced with you and Brianna.” As she met his eyes, Jamie’s heart lifted at the beam from Claire’s face. 

“And Frank, well—” Her shine disappeared as quickly as it’d emerged, replaced with a poignant mixture of sadness and regret. “He put so much into his relationship with Brianna. He wanted a child, and it gave him so much joy to raise her. He also wanted someone who could love him the way I once did — the way I do when it comes to you.” A burst of affection flickered in her eyes, and Jamie squeezed her shoulders in response. “So, he found that love elsewhere — or tried to, at least. He was almost always discreet, but—”

“Sassenach.” Wanting to provide Claire with the space to unravel her years with Frank at her own pace, he resisted interrupting or contributing his own thoughts, choosing instead to comfort her with his touch. But her latest reveal —  _ the unworthy bastard had paraded around with women when he had a wife and child at home  _ — was too much for him to bear. “He — he had mistresses? Other women? That self-righteous embarrassment of a man, he was supposed to protect ye and Brianna—” 

“ _ Jamie _ .” Framing his rays of fury between her palms, she watched him gradually return to her, rage morphing into despondence. “Frank and I had to find a way to live again. No, it doesn’t excuse his behavior. But he didn’t make it obvious to me — or, more importantly, to Brianna. I was so deeply yours . . . I couldn’t blame him for trying to find that love for himself.” 

“Ye dinna deserve it though.” The news had left Jamie utterly helpless, powerless to do anything that would remove the source of pain from Claire’s life. 

“It wasn’t ideal, but it was part of our agreement. I knew about them all. We’d had a fight about it a few weeks before he died, but otherwise it was simply a part of our marriage.” 

Grasping her hands from his face, he entwined them with his, a sense of protectiveness coursing through him. 

“There  _ was _ one time, though.” Before she could think, Claire had unearthed one of several painful turns in her relationship with Frank. “Do you remember the pictures I showed you of Brianna? The one of her with me at my medical school graduation? We’d had a party that evening at the house before our celebration dinner, and I’d invited several of my classmates over. Frank was acting unusually distant, trying to rush us out of the house. It was so strange, but then I heard a knock on the door and answered it.” Her voice growing hoarse, Claire paused and gulped quietly.  “It was a woman — one of Frank’s. She’d shown up at our home. Frank tried to tell me he had the time wrong, but that man never missed a detail in his  _ life. _ ” Restless from the intensity of emotions currently pounding her body, Claire shifted further onto the bed. 

“He’d wanted to give me a taste of my own medicine. It’d be easy to blame him completely for the way he embarrassed me, or how our relationship only worsened after that night. But I know I share some of the fault, too.” 

“What are ye talkin’ about?” Jamie challenged, unable to let her take the blame for the man’s petulant behavior. “Claire, ye did the best ye could.”

“He knew I could never look at Brianna without seeing you. I followed _every_ condition he laid out for me, but nothing he demanded could erase your presence in me or in our daughter.” Jamie was surprised by Claire’s tight grip enclosing his hands, a physical emphasis on her meaning of _our._ “He could never forgive me for something I’d never apologize for. It was a tension that followed us until the day he died.” 

A silent, too-quick respite fell between them. Jamie traced his fingers along the insides of Claire’s hands, the two of them captivated by the movements.

“You won’t be the only one who has to stand before God and reckon with your faults,” Claire admitted, her vocal lightness warring with the pure sadness in her eyes. “I was heartbroken when Frank died. The person that I’d once loved with my entire self had disappeared over the years. Brianna was barely ten years old, and she lost the man who had been a father to her. The two of us mourned and found a way forward, and we faced a lot of difficult days.” 

Though Claire had delicately framed the words used to describe Frank and Brianna’s relationship, Jamie couldn’t escape the air of melancholy that surrounded his thoughts of the years he’d missed with his daughter. With his brows furrowed and a slight twitch of his mouth upwards, he renewed his focus on Claire and encouraged her onwards. 

“But there was something else I felt,” she added, surprising herself at the ease with which her confession began pouring  from her — a revelation she believed  _ only  _ Jamie would truly understand. 

“I was so relieved.” 

A few tears escaped her thick eyelashes, and Claire quickly blinked the rest away while releasing a shaky breath. “We’d been living out a story that wasn’t ours for so many years. I walled off the most fundamental parts of my soul for his satisfaction. And it was  _ exhausting _ . When he died, I realized I no longer carried as much resentment towards him.” Her amber orbs shone as she placed a hand behind Jamie’s neck, her fingers drifting through the fine hairs on his warm skin. “His death gave me the freedom to tell Brianna the truth about you. About us. About the love we shared and life we experienced together. It took me a few years, but I reclaimed my ability to choose, and I can never be sorry for that.” 

At a complete loss for words, Jamie pulled Claire against him and wrapped his weary arms around her, planting another kiss amidst her free-falling curls. He felt her tired frame melt against his as she encircled her limbs around his waist. A single tear emerged, pushed by the emotions sparring within his heart: grief coexisting with joy; anger with delight; and heartbreaking empathy with overflowing thankfulness _.  _

“Ye’ve always been the bravest person I’ve known,” he confirmed, speaking truths he could safely vocalize without breaking down. “Ye bore two children, ye sacrificed parts of yerself to create a good life for Brianna, and ye left it all behind to come back to me.” Slowly detangling themselves from one another, Jamie’s hands searched for Claire’s and held them between their bodies. “I’m so grateful for ye.” 

From the moment she’d left the print shop earlier that evening, he knew what he had to do next. As he listened to her own confessions, the proposed offer lingered in his mind, tapping Jamie to give Claire what she deserved — a choice. 

“Sassenach, I ken I’ve made this difficult for you. I broke yer trust, thinkin’ only of myself while knowing ye risked everything for me. Ye’ll always have the freedom to decide when it comes to me.” Fighting back tears, he forged on, terrified of the reaction waiting for hm. “If ye ever want to return to the stones and go back to yer own time, I’ll take ye there myself. Ye deserve a happy life.”

A mixture of a noisy huff and trembling gasp escaped from Claire. Before he could capture her reaction, she’d risen from the edge of the bed and wrangled him up towards her. Their faces only inches apart, Jamie nearly buckled under the weight of Claire’s pleading eyes and firm clutch of his forearms.

“Listen to me, Jamie Fraser,” she commanded, fear and yearning underlying her voice. “Tonight has been confusing and frustrating, and it may feel that way for some time as we get used to one another again. But it’s  _ never _ been a question of whether I love you.” 

Covering her hands with his own, Jamie’s heart nearly leaped out of his chest _. _   “I never want ye to feel like ye dinna belong here,  _ mo chridhe _ .”

“You  _ bloody  _ fool.” Blinking back the onset of tears once more — the physical exhaustion weakening her defenses — she tightened her claim of his body. “I am never leaving you again. You have and will always be my home, even when I want to throttle your neck.  _ I choose you _ , Jamie.”

Between Claire’s words of confirmation and the feeling of her hands on him, unadulterated desire flooded his senses. Her body intoxicated him in a way that not even the strongest whisky could manage, and all he wanted in that moment was her skin against his, the physical barriers joining the emotional layers shed throughout the night. But as he looked directly at Claire’s earnest appearance, only one question materialized.

“Will ye forgive me?” 

A rush of tenderness bolstered Claire as she enveloped her arms around Jamie’s neck. Placing a chaste yet promising kiss against his lips, she pressed her forehead against his, and Jamie lost himself in the pure love glowing in her eyes. 

“Yes,” she whispered, “I forgive you.” 

Without missing a beat, a tearful Jamie smiled into another kiss, the intensity reaching a new level. Claire outlined his bottom lip with her tongue, her actions rewarded with a soft groan as Jamie opened his mouth in return. Refusing to break apart, Claire grasped the waistband of Jamie’s breeks as he unlaced the top of her shift, their hasty actions reflecting their shared need to reclaim one another. Coming up for breath, Claire grabbed Jamie’s shirt and flung it off before launching her mouth against his once more. 

Naked skin pressed together, their emotionally raw souls discovered territory that further emboldened them. Jamie’s hands traveled down her collarbones before finding her breasts, his thumbs stroking her nipples in a rhythm that awakened Claire’s body against him. Breaking their kiss to release a moan spurred by Jamie’s actions, her fingers lightly grazed the faded scars that crossed his back as she lightly bit the skin on his neck.

_ “Claire, _ ” Jamie whispered against her ear in an aroused haze, his remaining self-control emptying by the second. “I need ye so badly. Will ye have me?” 

“Yes,” she groaned, kissing him deeply. “I need you too.”

Taking his hand, they kneeled on the mattress, kissing their way towards the headboard. Scooting her body downwards, Claire brought Jamie over her, nearly every inch of their bodies touching. Based on the heat radiating from her, Jamie knew Claire was ready, but he desperately wanted to cherish her without rudely teasing. Beginning from her lips, he planted wet kisses along her entire upper body, feeling her body rise to meet his as the kisses grew in frequency and geographically.

“This is what I dreamt of at night,” Claire breathed out, her physical and emotional openness leaving no room for tentativeness. “Your hands on me, your mouth on mine, your skin against me.  _ God _ , Jamie, I need you inside me.”

Floored by Claire’s verbal boldness, Jamie leaned up and plunged his tongue into her mouth, his hips slowly grinding against her pelvis. Steadily approaching the edge, Jamie suddenly paused as a hand wrapped around his length, delicately stroking its hardness. As soon as his eyes focused on Claire’s wide and  _ knowingly _ teasing smile, he was flipped onto his back, his arms pinned above his head. 

“ _ James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser _ .” Claire’s breathless huffs forced her through each syllable. “I belong to you. And you — you are  _ mine. _ ”

Lacking the breathing necessary to speak, Jamie exaggerated his nod, his hands pressed against the headboard.

Grabbing his cock, Claire teased him with her wetness, confirming her body was ready for him. 

“You are  _ only _ mine.”

His hands now free to roam, Jamie perched himself up, running one of his hands behind her head and through her mountain of curls. “Aye, I’m yours.” 

“And you  _ will _ only be mine, now and forever.”

His response turned into an echoing moan of relief as Claire pushed herself down on him, her own  sighs harmoniously mixing with his sounds.

As she ground her hips, Jamie and Claire explored a physical intimacy that had  _ just _ escaped their fingertips in the time since she’d returned to him. Their bodies had little trouble reconnecting, comforting both of their nervous hearts. But as they reached a higher precipice, stars bursting in their eyes as whisky met sapphire, they realized the unspoken emotional line of demarcation had held them back. With no barriers left to cross, they finished one after the other as their bodies melded together, reveling in an all-consuming satisfaction they never thought they’d experience again. 

The first colors of dawn peeking through their windows, they laid breathless and sweaty, their rejuvenated bodies facing one another. Jamie sought Claire’s left hand and brought it between them, his eyes shining with devotion.

“For so many years,” he said, caressing her fingers, “for so long, I have been so many things, so many different men.” 

“I was  _ Uncle _ to Jenny’s children, and  _ Brother _ to her and Ian.  _ Milord _ to Fergus, and  _ Sir  _ to my tenants.  _ Mac Dubh _ to the men of Ardsmuir.   _ Malcolm, The Printer _ , in Edinburgh.” 

Jamie brought Claire’s hand to his lips, placing a soft kiss on her  _ J _ scar.

“But here,” he whispered heavily, “here in the dark, with you . . . I have no name.”

“I love you,” Claire spoke into Jamie’s breath as she leaned inwards and tenderly kissed him. 

_ I want him _ , she concluded _.  _ Claire had not wanted Jamie on their wedding day, but she had said it since in two moments of choice at Craigh na Dun. And now, for a third time, she would make the same choice.

_ What I tell you three times is true _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me at @lcbeauchampoftarth on Tumblr or @lcbeauchampoft1 on Twitter. I'd love to hear your thoughts, and thank you again for your support. <3
> 
> Next chapter will be up in the next two weeks. ❤️


	10. A Step Forward (March 1766/March 1967)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie and Claire revel in the newness of domestic life, and Brianna receives a final push of her own from a close confidante.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, hello friends! It has been so long, and I can't thank you all enough for sticking with me and being so patient as I dealt with life. The next chapter is nearly 3/4ths done, and I am so excited to get this story back in action. THANK YOU for your wonderful love and support for this fic. I am so excited for what's to come for Jamie, Claire, and the rest of our wee Fraser family, and thank you again.
> 
> A thank you to @wickedgoodbooks, @claryclark, and @smashing-teacups for their awesome work in helping me get this chapter ready, and to @happytoobserve for getting my mind right on upcoming time travel plotlines that'll be playing a big role moving forward.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy. <3

**_March 1764_ **

There were so many things I had missed about Claire. 

There were the visual and tactile aspects I had memorized. The way her amber eyes sparkled, whether in fury or delight; the same eyes that would catch my own and read my scattered thoughts in an instant. The slight uptick her lips assumed whenever she found something I’d said amusing, accompanied by a soft laugh that warmed me to my bones.  The unruly silky curls that my hands always found their home in.

I had missed the way she melted into me, her arms wrapped around my waist while her solid head rested against the beating thump in my chest. Every inch of my body had desperately ached for her touch; for the knowing hands that could both bring me to the edge of pleasure within seconds and heal the scars I bore. I had missed the ease in conversation that I found only with Claire. 

But I never knew how much I had missed watching her sleep until I found myself standing at the entrance to our bedroom, overwhelmed at the sight of my beautiful wife curled up in our bed. She was still clothed in her navy skirt and bodice, and several curls had escaped the messy updo she preferred to wear as a doctor. Her journal remained open beside her, an ink pen loosely held in her right hand. Her lips were slightly parted as a faint snore accompanied the rhythmic movements of her lungs. I could feel my own weary muscles fighting the urge to collapse on the spot, fueled by the sympathy I carried towards her exhaustion.

Over a month had passed since we wrestled with an exhaustion of a different kind, stripping away the loneliness and grief we’d shouldered on our own. We placed the burdens of our eighteen years apart at each other’s feet, overwhelmed by the daunting realization that we’d spent six times the number of years separated as we had together. With the first rays of dawn peeking through the windows of the House of Joy, we had made the decision to fight for a life that we wanted; a life rooted in the love we never lost for one another.

We moved out of Madame Jeanne’s and into the bright and open space above Claire’s new surgery — a place we could fully claim as ours. Claire and I spent a weekend scrubbing (or, as she liked to call it,  _ disinfecting _ ) every nook and cranny of her new professional abode and rearranging the furniture into a suitable layout for her first day as the new healer in town. Distracted by the whirlwind days we’d spent moving and settling into our new life, Claire showed no signs of nerves until we hit a natural lull that Sunday afternoon. 

_ “Doesna look too bad, aye?” I concluded, leaning against the front door and admiring our hard work. I ran a stained cloth over the developing layer of sweat on my forehead, the combination of the three roaring fireplaces and our physical exertion leaving us both on the verge of overheating, despite the blustery February winds outside. “Tis ready to receive your first patients tomorrow. Have ye got everythin’ ye need?”  _

_ “Mmhm.” _

_ Her unusually subdued response prompted my head towards her, and I immediately sensed the unease that coursed through her — from her wringing hands, to the way her glances darted across every corner of the room while she chewed on her lower lip. _

_ “Sassenach.” _

_ The term I’d reclaimed in endearment for her. When she quickly answered my call through the turn of her head towards me, my heart squeezed in relief that time  _ _ hadn’t weakened the feelings I laced in that word. Her face was in full view as I erased the bit of space between us and gently framed her flushed cheekbones.  _

_ “Tis normal to be nervous, but dinna fash. You have a great doctor who’s excited to work wi’ ye. You’re ready.” _

_ Her shoulders slumped and a nervous smile crept along the corners of her mouth. “I know, but I sometimes wonder if agreeing to this was too much too soon.”  _

_ My hands moved towards her crossed arms and slowly began traveling up and down her taut muscles. I followed the flickers of doubt crossing her face, the silence resting between us and giving Claire room to think. _

_ “I’ve only been here a few weeks, Jamie. I know you’ve been nothing but supportive of all of this,” she stated, her head nodding towards the impeccable surgery that was now hers. “Am I  _ really _ ready? I practiced medicine in a different time, with technology and other advantages. I don’t want to let my patients or Doctor Morgan down.” _

_ “First, mo nighean donn,” I began, tilting my head to catch her slightly lowered eyes. “Ye’re forgettin’ that you already know how to heal in this time. Ye didna even have the training back then that ye do now, and look at what ye did from the moment we first met. And every night these past few weeks, I’ve come home to you with yer wee nose in all sorts of books, studyin’ at all hours.”  _

_ Claire looked upwards, and while I knew that I’d somewhat relaxed the stressful entanglement she’d weaved for herself, she still felt tightly wound. _

__ _ “Is this too much for us?” she blurted out quickly, the last syllable bringing every ounce of tension towards the surface. _

_ Ah. There was the question. The previously unspoken fear buried within her.  _

_ “That’s not what I meant.” Her hands sought mine on her arms, squeezing them reassuringly. “I want this. I know you want this for me. It’s only—” A sigh of frustration forced itself out, her words unable to capture the dueling anticipation and fear in her eyes. “We’ve never done this together — settling down, establishing ourselves so permanently in one place. And we’re still learning one another again.”  _

_ My fingers laced through hers as I brought one of her hands to my lips, pressing a featherlight kiss against her knuckles. _

_ “All I’ve ever wanted is a life wi’ ye, Sassenach. Tis more than I ever thought I’d have wi’ ye again. Everything else is just an added blessing.”  _

_ I moved behind her and wrapped my arms underneath her breasts, tugging her towards me and feeling her relax against me as we surveyed the physical foundation of her new adventure. “You have a gift of helpin’ people that makes ye happy,” I continued, my breath falling just above her right ear. “That should always be a part of any life we make together. This will never be too much.” _

_ Claire angled her head towards me, and I nearly lost myself in the bright golden flecks of her gaze before she rose to her tiptoes and met my lips. Once we parted, she broke from my grip and hugged me tightly, and the sparks exploding throughout my body were a stark reminder that I still hadn’t quite deemed myself worthy enough to have her here with me. The sensation grew stronger as she nestled herself in the crook of my neck, smiling at my increasingly erratic heartbeat and taking a deep breath. _

_ “Thank you.” _

Claire officially opened her surgery the following day, and it only took her patients a few minutes to completely fall in love with her. Her charm and warmth could put the shyest bairn or the most skeptical  _ auldjin _ at ease. As her days steadily grew busier with her increasing popularity throughout Edinburgh, I began to lose count of the number of nights I’d come home and find her hunched over her examination table, using the firelight to excitedly jot down what she’d accomplished that day with a focus that only strayed at the sign of my presence. 

My need to hold her finally outweighing the hesitancy to wake her, I carefully dropped my bag, removed my coat and tricorn (both necessary to counter the skin-piercing winds that lingered in the Scottish springtime), and crawled onto the bed, mindful not to disturb her. Inch by inch, my left side met the downy comforter; but despite my best efforts, a low-pitched hum departed from Claire as her body began to unfurl. Eyes still closed, her left arm extended towards me and landed on my vest, and the sweetest hint of a smile immediately formed upon contact. 

“Hello there.”

“Hello, Sassenach,” I whispered into a teasingly intimate kiss, her slightly louder hum indicating its success.

“I missed you today,” she observed through a sigh as her eyes fully opened, hazy clouds of whisky taking me in. “You’re home late.”

“Ach, our dear friend Cameron wouldna stop running his mouth when he spotted me on my way home.” Though I kept my focus on her, I shifted onto my back and placed my right hand behind my head, resting it against the pillows. “Nearly an hour and a half of askin’ me about which products he’d have the best chance sellin’ as a silversmith.  _ Christ, _ the man can talk.” 

That quietly electrifying chuckle I’d missed so much rumbled through her as she continued emerging from slumber. “Is he switching up his market again? He’s been doing so well with woodworking.”

“I dinna ken. That man changes his mind every day; Susanna is a saint for puttin’ up wi’ him.”

Claire scooted closer, her head fitting into the space between my arm and shoulder, and her left arm sprawling across my waist. “I’m glad you’re home.”

I wrapped my arm around her and pressed a kiss against her forehead. “Me too.” 

I loved introducing her to the people I’d come to know during my year in Edinburgh. Claire and I told the “story” of how we found one another again (the one we’d tested on Ian and Jenny, who knew us far too well to be satisfied with it). The community that had embraced me had welcomed her with no shortage of curiosity and kindness, and Claire had already begun to develop friendships. There was William Byrne, a young man around Fergus’s age who ran his father’s jewelry shop down the street and lived above it with his wife and newborn son;  Agnes and John Baxter, talented and once-penniless pianists in their thirties who’d recently joined the Edinburgh Music Society; and, of course, the ragtag group of men I’d employed in my print shop, all willing to spar with Claire’s wit and humor in a way that our Highlander family did long ago.

And then, there were the MacNeils. Susanna and Cameron — both in their fifties, they’d become well known during their thirty years and counting on High Street for their spirited personalities. Susanna was the best midwife in Edinburgh; and Cameron, a Renaissance man of sorts, somehow successfully changed jobs with every sunrise. While I’d become acquainted with the MacNeils, it was Claire’s arrival that bonded the four of us. Upon hearing the news that my long-lost wife was a healer herself, Susanna made it her mission to take Claire under her wing and teach her all the secrets and gossip of the city. They’d become a constant presence in our lives, and the two of us realized one night that we now had friends of our own making. 

Friends who knew us as the Frasers and nothing more — an unusual, but fantastic feeling.

“How was your day?” I asked at just above a whisper, Claire’s wandering hand fiddling with my vest buttons and reassuring me that she was still awake.

“No major tantrums from my younger patients and no projectiling of body fluids, so overall a lovely day. How was yours?”

“Good. Fergus and his friends are getting the hang of the shop, which is a tremendous help wi’ the paper’s demand growin’ so fast.”

“That’s a relief.” Placing both hands on my chest, she rested her chin on top of them and flashed a tired half-smile at me. “I’d much rather him be with you than out there smuggling Christ knows what. We need to have him over for supper again soon.”

“Aye, that’s a braw idea, Sassenach.” 

Her smile widened in contentment, and I couldn’t resist unwrapping the pearl-colored ribbon that kept her few obedient curls tied up. We let the minutes pass us by in peace, Claire’s eyes blissfully closing as my fingers weaved through the beautiful waves that tumbled against her porcelain skin.  Though my heart sank at the idea of disrupting the rare quiet bubble we’d created, I had something to tell her. 

“Claire.” 

Her eyes snapped open as she shifted once more, alert to both my tone and the absence of the numerous Gaelic names I’d preferred calling her. 

“Ned came by and brought me the papers this morning.” My hand paused its movements and rested against the back of her head.  “It’s official. Wi’ you back in this time, Laoghaire doesn’t own and never owned any claim to me, neither before God nor the law.”

Any hesitation we carried in the wake of our reunion had disappeared the night Claire found out my hidden past with Laoghaire. Instead, with both of us now painfully aware of the lows we’d faced during our time apart, we spent evenings sharing more long-buried stories. Talking about those years had once felt like fighting with a permanently jammed lever — even if you put every bit of yourself into your effort, nothing would change and you’d end up exhausted and frustrated. It was a daily choice we both had to make; but over time, we slowly rediscovered the freedom that I’d found only with her, and she with me. 

Even with the progress we made, I still carried the fear I’d wake up one day and find her gone. It was irrational and grew easier for me to quash over time, but she had that right to go back if she wanted. It was the same fear I now swallowed, face-to-face with the raw vulnerability in Claire’s expression.

“Are you alright,  _ a nighean _ ?”

Claire nodded slightly, inching closer. 

“I know it’s silly.” Despite the shakiness in her voice, her eyes only temporarily flickered downwards before confidently matching my unwavering stare. “But I’m glad you’re mine again. I don’t want to share you with anyone else ever again.”

Her response nearly broke my heart from guilt and selfish gratitude, and my hand automatically traveled down her jawline, stroking her cheek. “I ken my decisions may have led ye to think otherwise, but my heart has always been yours, Sassenach.”

“I know.” Her hand met my traveling fingers and she squeezed them tightly, her smile reflecting the truth of her words. “It was the same for me.”

A rush of tenderness spurred me on; and at that moment, I remembered how much I’d missed the little hitch in Claire’s breath that awaited me right before an especially needy kiss. Starting off slowly, I cherished the softness of her lips before her mouth opened against mine, begging me to venture deeper. A wee groan signaled her impatience as her tongue traced my bottom lip, and I gripped the back of her head and pulled her closer. An embarrassingly loud moan left my mouth as she swung her left leg over my waist, every inch of our upper bodies now touching as our kisses grew more intense. 

And right as my hands started to untie her bodice, my empty and demanding stomach made its presence known, immediately killing the mood by sending Claire into a fit of giggles. 

“There are some bannocks and jam in the kitchen, I’ll go grab them.” 

Claire kissed me on the cheek before crawling off of me and heading out our bedroom door. With my back screaming at the uncomfortable position I’d assumed on the bed (and my very immediate frustration at my body betraying me), I slowly shifted my upper half and stretched out my cramped legs. As I grabbed Claire’s journal off the bed to place on her nightstand, several inserts fell from in between the pages she had already carefully documented her days’ worth of adventures on. Once I picked up the scattered paper squares, however, I realized they were the farthest things from random scraps.

My daughter was smiling back at me through glimpses of her childhood captured from the future: Brianna as a toddler, my blue eyes and her mother’s heartstopping smile shining as she proudly sat on a rocking horse; as a five-year-old, standing against the front door in a purple ruffled dress and matching bow in her hair, posing mid-laughter for her mother; as a thirteen-year-old, smirking behind her fiery red hair and underneath a plaid blanket while reading in front of the fireplace; and as a sixteen-year-old, her mouth open in surprise and two thumbs sticking up as she held what Claire had explained to me as a key to an  _ automobile. _

The photographs spanned the entire length of time we’d been apart, and the familiar pang of grief returned to the pit of my stomach. I could never completely accept what Claire and I had lost; however, the knowledge that our sacrifice had not been in vain made me smile. 

Brianna was alive and safe. And Claire had done the most brilliant job raising her.

“I like to keep her with me.” 

So lost in our daughter’s world, I jumped at Claire’s voice and turned to find her leaning against the door jamb with food cradled in her hands, bittersweet adoration gathered in the glowing amber of her gaze. 

“Those would probably send me straight to a witch trial if anyone found them, but it didn’t feel right to keep them locked away forever.” Perching herself on the edge of the bed, she grinned sheepishly before handing me a bannock in exchange for Brianna’s photographs. I swung my feet over the bed and scooted myself towards Claire, our shoulders touching while we both looked at our daughter.

“I ken what ye mean, Sassenach,” I responded fondly. “My office stays locked because I work with people who can’t keep their noses out of other’s things, but I keep several photographs of her in my desk at the shop.”

“Do you?” Claire’s eyes glittered with both humor and tenderness.

I nodded, placing the bannocks and jam on my nightstand before returning to an image of a seventeen-year-old Brianna, her tongue sticking out at us while doing schoolwork at her desk.

“It was just the two of us for seven years,” Claire added while my fingers traced the outlines of Brianna’s face. “She became my best friend, and she unknowingly kept me going through so many dark days.”

The gathering tears highlighted her whisky color, and I wrapped my arm around her and pulled her towards me.

“I’ll never forget what ye gave up to come back to me, Sassenach.” 

“Brianna wouldn’t have accepted anything else.” Her head tilted towards me, our faces only inches apart. “She was the one that gave me the final push I needed to come find you.” 

“Our daughter has her mother’s courage,” I choked out, an unexpected wave of emotion making the words more difficult for me to speak.

Claire placed her hand at the back of my neck and our gazes locked.

“And her father’s heart.”

“She’s the best of both of us.” 

 

**_March 1967_ **

“It’s  _ Penny Lane _ ! I don’t know why you’re arguing with me over this, you nerdy Scot,” I teased, too focused on the bumper-to-bumper traffic in downtown Boston to stick my tongue out at my rambunctious passenger.

“ _ Whoah _ , no need for name-callin’.” Roger ruffled the troublesome brunette waves off of his forehead before turning towards me, his glasses and nose previously hidden in a souvenir guide he’d picked up at Logan Airport on Sunday. “The DJ’s clues were that the song was by a band that was part of the British Invasion, and that it peaked at #1 on Billboard this month. If you ask me, those are pretty vague clues, and  _ I _ think they could describe  _ Ruby Tuesday  _ by The Rolling Stones.”

“You’re forgetting his third clue — a song based in nostalgia. Penny Lane is where Paul McCartney grew up!”

“But what if he’s playin’ loose with the definition? A song about an ex-girlfriend can be nostalgic, and—”

“Shhhh!” Immediately recognizing the transitional jingle, I waved my hand in his direction before turning the radio volume back up.

“ _ On a sunny Wednesday morning in Boston, it’s 8:56 a.m. and I’m Dale Dorman with WRKO….” _

I resisted the urge to let out an exhausted groan, kicking myself at agreeing to not only host a bright-eyed and curious historian during my Spring Break, but also being naive enough to believe that there was  _ no way  _ he’d force me out of the house before 10 a.m. while on holiday. 

“ _ Ladies and gents, it’s the final song of The Breakfast Club.…..” _

I automatically leaned closer to the radio, as if a shorter distance would give me a head start on the song. 

_ “Penny Lane, there is a barber showing photographs…..” _

“YES!” After pumping my right fist upwards in victory, I flattened my palm and thrust it in Roger’s direction. “Last bit of donut, please.”

I didn’t even have to look in his direction to register his stunned jaw drop in response to my demand. “Listen, we never agreed to that. Two glazed donuts — one plain and one chocolate — and one cake donut; perfect Bostonian treats to  _ share _ between us.” 

“And I guessed correctly while also being the one to drive you around on your bookish adventures this week, pal.” My arm still extended, I refused to relent. “We can grab Dunkin Donuts again tomorrow, but that last piece of chocolate glazed is mine.”

Biting my tongue to ward off my laughter at his indecipherable mumbling, I thanked him graciously before stuffing the sugar bomb into my mouth and reveling in the way it melted against my taste buds.

“Aye, I guess it’s the least I can give ye as thanks for spending your morning combing through records wi’ me,” he surrendered, making no attempt to hide the feigned defeat in his tone. 

“You’re giving me a reason to explore the city I’ve called home my entire life, Wakefield,” I responded, pulling into a lucky parking spot right in front of the Massachusetts State House. “For example,” I continued, peeking out the windshield and pointing towards the imposing golden-domed building, “I don’t think I’ve been inside since we took a class trip in third grade. And I’ve never been down to the archives.”

“Ah, so ye’re admitting ye’ve liked these — what did you call them?  _ Bookish _ adventures? — this week?” he quipped, his stare anticipating my reaction as he unbuckled his seatbelt and exited the car. 

“They’ve involved a lot more research than I’m used to doing on school break, but they’re not  _ intolerable _ ,” I conceded as I shut the car door and we began our short walk. 

“Speaking of research, how’s your second-year history paper going? Have ye figured out a topic?”

“Well….” I drifted off, hesitant if I should finally say what I’d been seriously contemplating the past month. Roger would be the first I’d confided in about this — but with him, I only questioned it for about ten seconds before spilling the beans. “I might be switching majors soon. Harvard has an architecture program that would let me get a graduate degree after five years, and I think I might give it a go next fall.”

At that point, we were halfway up the mountainous set of stairs leading to the State House when Roger stopped and quickly spun towards me. I anticipated being met with some sort of “ _ are ye mad, woman? _ ”, but I nearly sighed in relief when I took in his pleasantly accommodating reaction.

“Well, how about that. Architecture?” Smiling, he elbowed me playfully after I’d taken the few steps to catch up with him. 

“I think so,” my verbal confirmation surprising even myself as our feet propelled us forward in identical stepping time. “ _ Maybe _ . It’s just — when I research nowadays, I’m becoming less interested in the events and people that occupied a certain location and more fascinated with the buildings themselves. The design, the structure, how everything is precisely crafted to keep a design weighing hundreds of thousands tons standing upright. Like for example,” I tugged Roger closer to me as he followed my upward glance towards the State House, both of us shivering as a burst of wind seeped under our layers of clothing. “I haven’t been inside this place in over a decade, but I’ve come down to the park and sketched it several times. It’s one of my favorite buildings in the city.” 

“It sounds like ye’ve made up yer mind then.” Roger tugged his scarf closer to him and we continued up the stairs. “Are ye still plannin’ on Edinburgh this summer?”

“Yeah, I’ve already paid for the history courses for the summer at the university. And it still sounds like a great opportunity.” 

“I’ll have to come meet ye in the city one day and take ye to The National Archives there. The architecture is stunning —  _ and  _ it’s a gold mine of research, a place where ye could find the history of anything and anyone that walked the streets of Edinburgh, so win-win.”

I rolled my eyes in an exaggerated manner, letting out a mocking groan. “Well gee, for a second it sounded like you were about to suggest something  _ fun. _ ”

“Ah, hush.” He laughed momentarily before turning his face towards me. “But really, that sounds brilliant. Ye’re also a gifted artist, which’ll serve ye well as an architect.”

I hid my growing blush as I dug in my tote bag for a map of the State House’s interior that I’d grabbed from Joe. “You don’t think it’s strange that I’m not following in Frank Randall’s footsteps?”

“Ye’re yer own person, Brianna.” Pausing outside the entrance, he blindly searched in his worn leather bag for the black spiral notebook he’d been using to document his research this week. “While ye have a family and history ye were born into, what ye do wi’ it is yer choice.” 

I paused as he proceeded to stroll inside, his casually-spoken remark hitting me square in the chest. Roger’s visit to Boston — jam-packed with sightseeing and research for his upcoming project on the Great Awakening’s beginning movements in the Colonies —  had marked the first time we’d interacted in the past year that hadn’t included some veiled reference to my mother or to Jamie Fraser. I could tell he was being intentional about avoiding discussions of them, but even his well-intended advice brought my thoughts back to my parents.

My mother had been gone for over a year. And though I had trained my mind to instantly bury these thoughts, I constantly wondered what had happened to her. Was she happy? Were they happy? What did those papers at the Reverend’s manse say? 

The entrance door opened and Roger’s head popped out, clearly searching for me.

“It’s freezing out there, Randall, come on.”

 

\---------

Twelve hours (four spent meandering through the Massachusetts Archives, occupying myself with records from the early days of the Salem Witch Trials) and nearly ten miles of city-walking later, Roger and I dragged our weary feet through the front door of my childhood home. 

“Hello! We’re back!” I called as we shed our coats and scarves in the entryway, thawing out after a chillier-than-normal spring day.

“Hello loves! In here!” 

Gail’s honeyed greeting, accompanied by the glowing lighting and the sounds of WRKO’s Top 40 evening show, led Roger and I to the living room. She was sprawled on the couch and underneath a peach blanket, while Joe sat in the neighboring armchair, completely immersed in a medical journal.

My mother had granted the deed of our home to Joe and Gail until I had turned eighteen, and the three of us now encountered some form of analysis paralysis any time we discussed what to do with the house. Joe and Gail had their own family home in Cambridge that they didn’t want to part with, while I lived in the dormitories at Harvard during the school year and with the Abernathys during the holidays and summer. But once a month, we’d head over together and spend a weekend here — an unspoken agreement that I wouldn’t have to spend nights alone in a place frozen in time. We’d flip the lights, dust off the furniture, and breathe a bit of life back into the house. 

There were days where I wanted to throw out everything that was inside — the vast majority of items in the same place they’d been the day my mother left — and never look back. But on other days, I was grateful I could return to the time capsule our home had become. My gut twisted whenever I moved something from its spot, which didn’t help the current struggle I was facing with the house. It was paid off and my parents had put more than enough money away to handle the tax and utility bills every month, but I knew I needed to make a decision soon.  

“How was day four of Boston?” Gail inquired, eyes glancing up from her magazine and smiling at the sight of us. 

“Well, my feet may say otherwise, but it was a fun day,” Roger replied as he slumped against the stairwell.

“He got some research done, and I took him around Boston Common.” I plopped on the couch next to Gail, my aching legs grateful for the relief. “We walked around Downtown Crossing, Back Bay, and eventually along the Charles before walking back to the car at the State House.” 

“Jesus, Bee, how are you two still walking?” Distracted by the extensive map of our day, Joe perked up from his studying, adjusting his glasses against his surprised expression.

“I’m asking that same question myself, Joe, hence I’m outright knackered and headin’ straight to bed,” Roger responded humorously, waving once as a farewell. “Night, all.” 

After the three of us bid him goodnight, we caught each other up on our days. I became so immersed in listing all of the tourist traps I’d taken Roger to, I hadn’t even noticed the late hour until Gail excused herself to bed. Joe and I were the resident night owls, so he walked over to my mother’s bar cart and poured two glasses from the bottle of whisky he’d brought to the house.

“Cheers to peace and quiet,” he toasted after handing off my drink, the two of us clinking our glasses together.

Joe returned to his medical journal and I pulled out my sketchbook, anxious to fill in the drawing of the State House’s lobby that I started after growing bored in the archives. The music of The Supremes, The Monkees, Marvin Gaye, and others occupied the living room, the two of us humming along every so often while in our own mental grooves. However, as the radio blared a set of drums and chiming guitars, the familiar intro immediately left me transfixed as my surroundings disappeared.

_ They say we're young and we don't know _

_ We won't find out until we grow _

_ Well I don't know if all that's true _

_ 'Cause you got me, and baby I got you _

_ Babe. I got you babe…. _

“Now that’s a song I haven’t heard in  _ ages _ .” 

Joe’s delighted revelation brought me back to reality, and I watched through glazed eyes as he moved towards the radio, turning the volume up before joining me on the couch. 

“Lady Jane  _ loved _ this song. She’d hum it constantly, especially during those long surgeries.” Joe cast a wistful smile my direction before taking another sip of his whisky. “I remember her saying this was a song you two loved to sing together.” 

“We did,” I laughed a bit louder than normal in response, desperate to contain the rising tide of emotion in my chest. “With some lyric foul-ups on her end, I might add,” I continued before taking another long sip of my drink. “This is also the last song I remember singing with her.” 

Joe’s brows furrowed as he placed his drink on the coffee table, settling back against the couch in anticipation for my further elaboration. I was already in the process of beating myself up for saying too much; nevertheless, I took a deep breath, doing my best to calm my rapid heartbeat before continuing. 

“It was New Year’s Eve,” I began, nervously twisting the glass in my hands. “We’d had a big party, you remember. After everyone had left and Roger had gone up to bed, Mama and I put on some records to entertain ourselves while we cleaned up. The two of us were laughing and dancing, throwing the confetti we were supposed to be picking up at one another.”

I paused at a vision of my mother in her gorgeous navy silk dress, the cowl neck perfectly contrasting the sleeveless design. Her carefully-styled updo had fallen loose, and the two of us wore matching flushed cheeks from the booze and side-splitting laughter. 

“One of the songs we played was this one. I usually sang the Cher part, since it was a bit more complicated,” I laughed, “and by that night, we’d sang it countless times before. It felt like any other time, but that night she was so relaxed and free. That was when she told me that my father — Jamie — had the worst singing voice, and she’d always been grateful I hadn’t inherited that trait from him.”

I’d never forget the pure adoration in her eyes as she made that comment; as if she’d been waiting for eighteen years to share that bit of my father with me.

“That wasn’t long after she’d found out that Jamie was still alive,” Joe commented. I could see his mind piecing together the emotional ramifications of that time.

“Only a week,” I confirmed. “She was completely torn up. After Roger shared the news with her, it was as if this weight she’d been carrying in her body had finally lifted. I could see how happy she was, but,” I swallowed, looking down at my twirling glass once more, “she and I both knew that her unwillingness to leave me was the one reason she wouldn’t go find him. We’d done a pretty decent job of ignoring it that evening, but as soon as she made that comment about my father and I saw the tears in her eyes, it was back.”

Tears suddenly filled my own eyes, and I shuddered as I prepared to wade through the final yet most difficult part of the memory.

“That’s when I saw it — the undeniable, powerful love she had for him. She’d shared pieces of him with me over the past two or so years, but it’s different to actually see it. The way her entire body softened at the mention of him, so comfortably herself. And  _ I _ would be the one thing keeping her from having a second chance at that, Joe.” I took another sip, an opportune moment to gather my scrambled thoughts. “She grabbed my hand and pulled me in for a hug, and I remember everything got quiet except for the song playing in the background.  _ I got you to kiss goodnight, I got you to hold me tight _ ,” I sang shakily, feeling a little pathetic at how sad these sappy lyrics would always make me feel. __

“I knew then that I had to do what I could to send her back to Jamie. I remember her face when we talked about it the following day. She’d never admit it, but I think she’d been waiting for me to say yes.”

Joe scooted to the edge of the couch and rubbed my back, letting a natural silence fall momentarily between us.

“I’m glad you shared that with me, Brianna.”

I shared a natural half-smile in response, appreciating Joe’s ability to switch to my actual name in more serious moments instead of his preferred “Bee”, a nickname he’d lovingly bestowed on me when I first met him as a kid. “I know I needed to send her back. But there are days where I miss her so much and I’d give anything to have her with me. And  _ then _ , I feel guilty for wanting her back, because I’m the reason she was stuck here for so long—”

“Brianna Ellen.” A rare name combination coming from Joe, only used in the most serious moments. He took my hand and squeezed it gently. “Your mother loved you  more than anything in this world. She wasn’t  _ stuck _ with you. You were her greatest adventure in this time. And like you pointed out, she would never have dreamt of leaving you if you had not been the one to give her the last boost of encouragement.”

I nodded as I wiped away a tear. “I know. I know all of these things. I just . . . miss her.”

“I miss her too. Your mother was one of the best.” 

Joe squeezed my hand once more before picking up his drink. 

“I hope it was worth it,” I joked halfheartedly. “She loved him in a way I’d never seen her love anything else in her life.”

“Well, based on the stories your mother told me about him, he loved her just as fiercely.”

“Star-crossed lovers,” I said with a slightly dramatic air as I picked at the fuzz on the blanket, though I couldn’t ignore the way Joe’s observation made my insides all warm and fuzzy. “I just hope she made it to him. I hope they had a good life together.”

“Well, you know,” Joe lingered, hesitant to continue his thought.

“Know what?” I asked, crossing my arms as I leaned into the couch.

“You still have Roger’s offer on the table. Why don’t you stop by the Reverend’s house with him after your trip to Edinburgh this summer? You can look through the boxes and see what became of your mother—”

"No,” I interrupted sharply, refusing to hear any more on the matter. “I’ve already said no to him, Joe.”

“Why not?”

“I can’t chase after my mother’s ghost.”

“Brianna, you don’t have to live your life in the dark.” Standing up, Joe grabbed both of our empty glasses before heading to the kitchen. “Your mother had no choice in that area, whether it was through a promise she made to Frank or her struggling to decide when to tell you the truth. Don’t use excuses to hide the fact that you’re afraid. It’s okay to be, but be honest with yourself.”

As he walked away, I rested my head in my hands, frustrated that he was absolutely right. Despite my fears, though, a plan was already beginning to form in my head, and I’d only need to wait a few months to execute it. 

What I didn’t know was that history had already accounted for me formulating this plan, and thus I had unknowingly begun a journey that would span both one and two-hundred-and-one years.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, you can find me at @lcbeauchampoftarth on Tumblr or @lcbeauchampoft1 on Twitter. Really looking forward to y'all's thoughts. <3


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